


200 Pages

by yourbfbucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:11:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4767947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourbfbucky/pseuds/yourbfbucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers, born 1994 in Brooklyn NY, is an art major in DC when he goes on an “inspiration” trip with his three best friends: Sam, Clint, and Nat. While bored in the Smithsonian’s current exhibit about the US Propaganda Character "Captain America" of WW2, Steve stumbles upon a mysterious blue cube which sends him to Brooklyn, NY, 1943.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Breathing Time Machine

[A Breathing Time Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C77DFsPKxv0)

 

“I voted for the zoo,” Clint grumbled. “I wanted to see the birds.”

“That was my idea!” Sam elbowed him in the ribs. “Dammit, stop copying everything I do.”

“I don’t!”

“Please,” Sam rolled his eyes. “It all started with skype names. I was Falconman, then you were Hawkeye12-”

“I made that username when I was twelve years old!”

“Oh my god you guys, shut up!” Natasha turned around in her seat. “I can hear you over my music.” Sam slid down a little in his seat, Clint pointedly staring out the window, turning a shade of red. “Thank you,” Natasha said, her voice even as turning back around.

Steve blew eraser shavings off of his pad. He was working on a sketch of Natasha’s face in a brand new notebook. His art final, filling up this new book, was due in two weeks. He [paused his music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5e1DBLXnjeQ) and turned around to Sam and Clint.

“Zoo next. I have 200 pages I have to fill.”

“Aw, yeah!” Clint fistbumped Sam. “Bird brothers forever!”

“Nerds,” Natasha mumbled. She glanced over to Steve’s sketchbook and nudged him. “Won’t your girlfriend be pissed that my face is the first one in your sketchbook?”

“Nah, she couldn’t make it so she can’t judge. You’re the closest thing I have to sketch, so it’s gotta be done. Whatever.” Steve shrugged. “She’s taking her psych evaluation today.”

“For Quantico?” Natasha asked.

“Something like that,” Steve’s brow furrowed as he fucked up the curve of Natasha’s brow in his sketch. “I don’t know. We’re not really talking at the moment.”

“Is everything okay?” Natasha asked gently.

“Yeah no, it’s- we’re happy for each other. I’m moving forward as an art major,” Steve said and rolled his neck, feeling the familiar crack of the bones. “and she’s moving forward as a badass enforcer of the law. We’re happy, but we’re also really busy. I don’t know if we’re gonna stay together.”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha said.

“It’s okay,” Steve said automatically. “I’m happy for her. If she wants to be the next director of the FBI or CIA or SHIELD then she can do it. I believe in her.” The side of Steve’s mouth curved upward as he shaded in the pupils. “And isn’t that what it’s supposed to be about?”

“Yeah.”

“Steve! We’re here! The Smithsonian!” Sam and Clint jumped up in unison and hurried off the bus. Steve chuckled and packed up his sketchbook (only 199 pages to go).

“Y’know,” Natasha mused as they walked up to the front of the bus, “I bet if you even asked, Sam would go for you.” Steve scoffed, running a hand through his hair. Natasha had just touched up his undercut last night, it was a little itchy but it felt lighter.

“Isn’t he all for that guy in his Calculus class- Riley?”

“Sure, but I bet he wouldn’t say no to a date!” Natasha sang out, putting her arm around Steve’s shoulders.

“Sure,” Steve scoffed. “Maybe if I was as into birds as he was.”

“C’mon my little bald eagle, you totally got it.”

“I regret showing you that picture.”

“You were adorable! Your first Halloween and you’re our national bird? You’re a true American!”

“Says the Russian!” Steve teased.

“Guys! C’mon! The dinosaurs!” Sam called from the top of the staircase. Steve and Natasha jogged up the stairs to meet Sam and Clint at the top. “Step one of “Help Steve pass his art final by going to all the DC tourist sites!””

When they stepped into the museum, they were sent through the standard metal detectors. Natasha smiled at the security guard, and they were able to go around the ten person family trying to put together their large bags of souvenirs and mapbooks.

“Okay, so we’re in the Natural History Museum first- then Air and Space?” Natasha asked.

“And then the zoo!” Sam said.

“That sounds good,” Steve said. Clint and Sam grinned, knowing their way almost instinctively to the National Fossil Hall and immediately started discussing Jurassic Park meta.  Natasha slipped on her headphones, humming as she walked over to the tyrannosaurus rex skeleton.  As for Steve, he sat down on the floor by the Stegosaurus display and turned the page in his sketchbook, deciding to sketch Sam and Clint’s faces next.

He started with Clint’s face, then ended up doodling a hawk silhouette next to him. Sam’s telltale grin was easy to capture, but then his eyes gave Steve trouble. He kept shading for a little while though, finally getting frustrated with a mistake and giving Sam Mickey Mouse ears. His pocket started to vibrate, and he heard the CSI theme ringtone in his earbuds, telling him without looking that it was Sharon calling him.

“Hey Sharon,” he sighed a little, pulling out his phone.

“Steve,” Sharon’s voice sounded far away, and Steve winced as the sound of wind interference was loud. “How are you? Are you at the museum?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I’m sketching some dinosaurs.” Partially true, as he finished a cartoonish caricature of a stegosaurus.

“Dinosaurs? That’s good, Steve! Hey, listen, I just finished my testing.”

“How did it go?”

“What?”

“How did it-” Steve started to say louder, then was shushed by an older woman. He didn’t have the heart to argue with her about how Sam and Clint were talking way louder louder just a fossil away.

“It went really well,” Sharon continued. “They’re calling me back tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “Isn’t that our-”

“Uh huh, one second. Steve, someone wants to talk to me super quick- I’ll call you back later.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “I mi-” He stopped talking as he heard the three beeps. He looked down at the paper, and blinked.  Sharon's face was looking up at him from under the Stegosaurus. "Oh", he murmured. Quickly filling in the curve of her brow. Her cheekbones. Her eyes. He finished her hair, then turned the page.

Natasha came back over, snapping her gum. “Was that Sharon?”

“Yeah.”

“Did she--”

“Forget our date? Yeah. But whatever. She’s moving up in the world.” Steve cleared his throat. “And I have 196 pages to finish.”

“You wanna move on from the dinosaurs?” Natasha asked.

“Nah, I’ll give them another minute.” Steve smiled at Natasha and said, “Thanks.” She nodded, patting his shoulder lightly. “Where is Clint?” he asked.

“I don’t know…” Natasha pursed her lips, looking around. But then they heard running footsteps.

“Guys! The new Captain America exhibit is in Air and Space! We have to go!! Professor Coulson wrote some of the pieces, based off of his book-”

“Teacher’s pet!” Sam coughed loudly while walking up with a grin on his face.

“What?! Just because that’s the first history class I’ve ever aced-”

“Dude, anyone can ace that class. Coulson is the best teacher ever,” Sam said, as they left the fossil hall and headed towards the door. The air conditioning gave them one last blast of air before they were outside in the hot, humid, DC summer.

“I liked that class,” Steve noted.  Coulson was an eccentric teacher, one of the nerdiest he’d ever met  “One of the best World War II lecture classes I’ve attended.”

“Maybe you should major in Captain America studies,” Clint snickered. Steve, seeing Natasha glare at Clint, began to respond, right at the moment someone slammed into him. He dropped his sketchbook but Sam’s quick reflexes kept him from falling to the ground completely.

“Asshole,” Steve grumbled. He looked up to see his friends staring/glaring at the guy. “Lemme at him. I’ll fight him.”

“No you won’t,” Sam said, helping him stand up. “C’mon. Let’s go to the exhibit.”

“But he was-!”

“Steve, let’s go.” Sam patted him on the back. “He’s just a stupid tourist.”

Natasha picked up his sketchbook, and walked in stride with them. “You okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine, guys,” he said, hunching his shoulders in on himself, hiding his irritation. He was already running through the conversation he would have with Sharon later. They would skirt around the subject and Steve would be left stewing in frustration, and no progress would be made. They were good as friends, but bad in romance.

Steve and the others walked in silence across the National Mall, avoiding large groups of tourists and adjusting their matching Ray-Bans as the day grew hotter.

“So, Nat,” Clint finally broke the silence as they caught sight of the Air and Space Museum. “You know a lot about Sputnik?”

“Shut up Clint,” Natasha rolled her eyes. Steve shivered a little as they opened the doors to the Air and Space museum, the air conditioning on high blast.  “Good on our government for putting our tax dollars into keeping the museums cold. And not into like...education. Or repairing potholes.” Natasha popped her gum as she stepped through the metal detectors.

“Tourist money, Nat,” Clint said, grinning. “And I will fall right into that weather-controlled tourist trap. Captain America, here we come!”

The instrumental version of the upbeat, heavily patriotic theme greeted them as they walked down the stairs. “Captain America: The Mythos, the Truth” exhibit was relatively new, donated by some big name politician or something. Steve put in his headphones, signaling to his friends that he needed to get into his creative headspace, but he didn’t play anything. He just wanted to be left alone. The Captain America mural was huge- the hero’s head bigger than Steve’s whole body.

His school had his Captain America unit when he was growing up. The “All American” hero propaganda.

“A symbol for the nation. The story of Captain America is about vision, teamwork, and stardom.” Narration played at each of the different points of the exhibit. Steve tapped his fingers on the cover of his sketchbook, furrowing his brow as he watched a clip of “Captain America” leading his group, called “The Howling Commandos” in a staged movie. The Howling Commandos weren’t real, just a way to get more minorities to sign up for the war, under the leadership of the All-American white hero. Captain America was a myth, just a superhero and comic book star in the world of war propaganda. The Captain America actor, Gilmore Hodge, never even saw war, never saw the front lines. Just raised money for war bonds and raised enlistment numbers. But the image of this Star-Spangled man took the world by storm.

“Looks like fun, huh, Steve?” Clint tapped him on the shoulder and Steve shrugged in reply.

“It’s war.”

“It’s Captain America!” Clint grinned.

“Y’know,” Natasha appeared on Steve’s other side. “you kinda look like him, Steve.”

“Who, him? Nat, have you even looked at me?” Steve scoffed, stepping back. “Let’s be real. At least that guy can throw a punch. I bet he wouldn't get knocked over in the street from someone bumping into him.”

“Steve, she didn’t-” Sam started to say, but Steve felt angry all of a sudden.

“It’s fine. I’m gonna go sketch a rocketship or something. I’ll see you guys later,” Steve snapped, turning around and jamming his earbuds back in as he stalked away. He didn’t end up going to the rocketships, but instead into a mini-theater, where a recording of a beautiful English woman was playing on repeat about some soldier. He took some deep breaths, trying to just calm down. He was being irrational about all this- he didn’t feel that strongly about Sharon, did he?

A blue light cut through the dark room. Someone had left the maintenance door ajar, and a blue light was shining through.

“I met Hodge in basic training camp for the Captain America recruitment program... ” the woman spoke in the video- but Steve wasn’t listening. He narrowed his eyes, walking forward to see what was shining through the maintenance door. Pushing the door further open, and wincing in expectation of alarm bells, he was surprised to see it was a nearly empty storage room. The light was coming from a crate in the middle of the room, the top opened and left on the ground. Steve looked around for a docent- but no one was nearby. His fingers itched with curiosity, and he took a small breath and stepped inside. As he got closer to the crate, he could see a label on the side. “WW2 Artifact - Cap Exhibit.”  Then he looked inside.

It was some sort of cube. It glowed this beautiful shimmering blue, like some gorgeous rock from space. Steve opened his sketchbook, finally feeling some sort of inspiration in this place. He turned to the next empty page with excitement and began to draw rapidly.  He tried capturing what it looked like, and made a mental note to use his blue colored pencils when he got back to the dorm room. There was no way this light was from World War 2, Steve thought. It had to be a mistake. Some sort of- electrical toy or something. Steve chewed his lip, then closed his book, holding it under his arm as he reached out with his hands to pick it up.

“Hey kid, what the--?!” An old man’s cry was the last thing Steve heard before he was gone.

 

\-------

A rush. A rush and a feeling of falling. Steve felt cold, then hot, then cold again. He curled up, tucking his limbs in tight and squeezing his eyes shut.

Then it stopped.

There was shouting. He could hear horns, the sound of squealing tires far away. The smell of garbage and smoke and sweat bombarded his senses. He was laying on something hard, probably just the ground. Had he fallen again? Passed out?

“Hey, buddy?” a man’s voice broke him out of his confusion.  “Need a hand?” Steve opened his eyes, blinded by the sudden change in light and blinked rapidly.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Where-”

“Buddy, you look like hell. Did you get beat up or somethin’?” Steve felt a hand on his back and flinched. “Hey, woah, it’s okay. Let’s get you up, okay?” Steve looked at the man, and felt his stomach clench. He was gorgeous- way out of Steve’s league. Blue eyes and a strong jaw, a grease stain on his cheek that Steve just wanted to reach out and touch. He was lean, like a swimmer, but his hands were calloused. Steve leaned toward him a little as the man helped him stand up.

“I’m-I’m okay,” Steve said, regaining his balance and looking around. They were in an alleyway, and his clothes were ripped and dirty.

“Was it Jerry and his guys?” the man asked, brushing Steve off a little. “Buncha assholes. What’s that?” The man pointed at something in Steve’s hand. It was his sketchbook.

“My sketchbook,” Steve said, feeling dazed as he began to walk down the street.

“Well, hey, listen. Come back to my place. It looks like your forehead might be scratched and I can help clean that up,” the man kept talking as Steve looked around and felt his body getting number and number. He saw the Brooklyn bridge. Home. He was back in Brooklyn. An old yellow taxi cab drove by except- it wasn’t old. It looked brand new. A boy in a cap, button up shirt, and slacks rode by on a bicycle, ringing the bell. The buildings- where were the signs? The lights? He knew this street- he had grown up nearby. He hadn’t been home since- but this wasn’t his home.

“Where am I?” he asked. The man raised an eyebrow.

“Buddy, how hard did you get hit?”

“I’m in Brooklyn- but I don’t- where’s the restaurants? And the electronics store, it’s supposed to be there on that corner-”

“You’re in the Navy Yard. C’mon, I live just a few blocks away on Montague. You need a nap. And maybe a Piels,” the man said, chuckling. “What’s your name?”

“Steve. Steve Rogers.”

“I’m Bucky. Bucky Barnes.” Bucky had a million dollar smile, and he put his arm around Steve’s shoulders as if they had been friends since they were kids. Were they? They walked down the streets, Steve looking around and feeling more and more light-headed as they walked. The men were in suits, and the women were in dresses. There were no cell phones. No loud music blaring, no selfies. Everyone was dressed as if they were extras in a PBS documentary. It was when Steve passed a newspaper stand that he stopped completely.

“MAY 13th, 1943 - GERMAN AND ITALIAN TROOPS SURRENDER IN NORTH AFRICA!” read the headline.  

“No. No, no, no-” Steve looked around wildly-- trying to catch sight of his friends laughing in the corner, the camera crew rolling off to the side.

“Steve? Steve, are you okay?” Bucky asked.

“I’m not- I’m not supposed to be here!” Steve exclaimed.

“Steve, what are you-”

“I was in DC. I was in DC. With Nat and Sam and Clint. We were at the museum and we-- I walked away. I walked--” Steve heard his breath start to wheeze. He felt the tightening in his chest and he leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees.   He took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself.  

“Steve, you gotta breathe,” Bucky soothed, rubbing his back. “You got hit really hard.  We’re almost to my apartment.” Steve saw black spots in his vision.

“This is some prank. I’m dreaming. I’m--” Steve gasped, and fell.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this started as a 1am AU brainstorm (shout out to my Hawkguy for the original prompt) and became a chapter which I took with me to a writing camp at college, which then turned into this. 
> 
> This has been beta'd, but I take full responsibility for any historical/grammatical errors ;w;
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated thank you just for reading!! 
> 
> Hit me up on [tumblr](yourbfbucky.tumblr.com)


	2. Fairly Local

[Fairly Local](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWuW8ghYOAk)

The blanket was itchy. His feet were too hot in his socks but for once, his hands weren’t cold. It was really comfortable. Something smelled good. Like his mother’s cooking. “Mom?” Steve murmured, pulling the blankets closer to his chin.

“Nope. You really gotta be more careful- I had to carry you all the way back here. You’re heavier than you look."

Steve's eyes shot open. He was in a tiny apartment, laying on a bed that looked more like a cot. There was a small dining table with two chairs. On the table he could see his things carefully laid out. His phone, his wallet, his headphones, his sketchbook- laid out in a uniform line. Bucky was in the matchbox kitchen, stirring something in a dented copper pot. Steve's shoes were by the door, which he noticed was unlocked.

"You got some pretty nice things," Bucky said, turning off the stove and walking over to the table to sit down. "Are you a scientist?"

"What?" Steve asked, sitting up and shifting so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"D'you work for Stark? I just assume with these gadgets- are they made out of plastic? This one only has five buttons!" Bucky was grinning, picking Steve’s phone up and turning it over and over in his hands. "This is so cool! Are you a tester?"

"Stark? Like- Tony Stark?" Steve ran his hand through his hair. This was a dream. He was in some induced coma dream.

"Howard Stark, buddy. Stark Industries? C’mon, you gotta work for them. I'm going to their convention in a couple weeks- will these be shown there?" Bucky's eyes were alight with excitement.

"I don't think so," Steve said, standing up.

"Hey, woah. Careful." Bucky watched Steve walk over to the table. "I don't wanna have to pick you up again."

"Thanks," Steve said, sliding his wallet and stuffing his headphones into his pocket. "You didn't have to do that."

"Sure I did. You seem like a good guy- a little banged up and ruffled around the edges, but I don't mind." Bucky smiled. He gestured to the chair. "You can sit down, if you want. I made stew."

"Thanks but-" Steve started to refuse then realized the gravity of his situation. If this really was 1943- then he had nowhere to go. His friends weren't here- his friends weren't even born yet. Feeling defeated he mumbled, "Never mind," and sat down.

"So. You're from DC?"

"I mean I guess- kinda," Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm an art student."

"You're studying art?" Bucky's eyes got wide. "That's so cool. I can’t believe they still let you do that.”

“Let me?”

“They didn’t make you get a job in the factory- do you make posters?” Bucky asked.

The draft. Steve shivered.

“Um, no. I-I’ve been out of the country for a while.”

“Whereabouts?” Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Canada,” Steve lied. “I flew back to DC before heading up...here.”

“Ah, gotcha.” Bucky stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. “You get your orders?”

“I- no. I haven’t gotten my orders. I haven’t been registered yet,” Steve swallowed thickly. That was bad. Bucky probably thought he was a traitor. Or worse. A coward.

“You’ve been away for a while. It happens.” The stew poured more like water.

\-------

They ate in silence. Steve watched Bucky pick up his spoon, noting the faded black marks on his hands. Bucky would catch his eye sometimes and smile a little, slurping his soup. After he had finished three bowls and Steve had eaten two, Bucky finally sat down and cleared his throat. Pulling out a carton of cigarettes and a lighter, he gestured at the sketch book next to Steve. “So, I’m gonna admit,” he said with a cigarette between his lips. “I peeked in your book, just the first page with the dame.”

“Oh,” Steve would normally feel a little more protective- but there was nothing there of importance. Just- just his friends! He opened the cover quickly, and was relieved to see the sketch of Natasha still there. His life wasn’t a dream. “She’s just a friend.”

“She looks so realistic!” Bucky said, his mouth curving upward. “I’m glad you’re not mad,” His voice softened.  “I was worried ya would be, I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” Steve said. “It’s barely started anyway. Just some portraits. I like sketching faces.”

“Can you sketch mine?” Bucky asked, a smile shining bright on his face.

“I mean, yeah, sure,” Steve said. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh cool! I’ve thought about being a model,” Bucky winked, and Steve felt his cheeks heating up.  “Ever since Lucy brought it up once when she was in art school.”

“Your girlfriend?” Steve asked, breaking eye contact.

“Nah,” Bucky said, puffing on his cigarette again and leaning back in his chair. “Just a friend.”

“Oh,” Steve murmured, nodding.

“Anyways, so what’re you doing back in New York?” Bucky asked. His posture had shifted just a little, he was a little straighter.

Steve had been preparing for this question, memories of history classes and assignments on World War 2 coming back to him. The easy answer would be that he was here to work in the factories. If he remembered Coulson correctly, the pay was decent. If he got a job in a factory, would that give him time to figure out what happened? How to get home? If getting home was even possible. His other option was to run for DC. That was a more dangerous route. He could be mistaken for trying to duck the draft. Or he could enlist. And that was the answer that caught Steve off guard because the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He knew things. He knew some famous battle dates and their outcomes. He knew dates of when the war would end. He could help.

“I’m enlisting,” Steve said. Bucky raised an eyebrow, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and tapping the end into an ashtray.   
“Well, alright then.” Bucky grinned. “I guess we’ll figure it out.” There was a moment of silence and then Steve asked,

“We?”

“Well, I assume you need a place to stay, unless you’re staying with your folks.”

“They’re dead,” Steve said instinctively. Bucky’s face fell into that look of concern that Steve was starting to associate with him. “No, I mean-- I don’t have any plans,” he said quickly. “I’d be really grateful and willing to help around here if you’d let me stay.” Bucky’s smile returned.

“You don’t have to do much,” he said, putting the cigarette back in his mouth and inhaling. “Just shine my shoes, take out the trash. I got you.”

“How do you--” Steve stopped himself.

“What?”

“How do you,” Steve chose his words carefully. “trust me, already? You found me in an alleyway. I could be crazy.” The last part was a little more important to him. Bucky smirked.

“You seem like a good guy. Little guy from Brooklyn, taking a punch. I can handle you, I think. Plus, you and I seem to get along real well.”

Steve didn’t know exactly what he meant by that.

\-----

Steve awoke the next day coughing and wheezing. Bucky had gotten up from the table, his coffee cup left behind, rushing to the bedside.

“Steve, buddy, what’s going on?”

“A-asth-asthma,” Steve wheezed. The smell of smoke was in the air and Steve pushed himself up out of the bed, staggering to the door. He turned the knob with shaky hands and almost fell on the ground outside.

“Oh shit, Steve- I didn’t-”

“You didn’t know, it’s okay,” Steve rubbed his ribs, taking in deep lungfuls of air as his throat hurt less and less. “I’m normally better but-”

“Jesus, you just got back to the city. It’s okay. I’ll smoke outside from now on.”

“You don’t--”

“My sister had asthma, or something like that. It really only happened when my old man smoked cigars or if my mother brought in fancy flowers. Everyone said it was in her head.” Bucky went back inside and opened a window. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

\-----

 

“Who’s Sebastian?”

“Who?”

“Your shirt,” Bucky gestured at him. “‘I met Lil’ Sebastian at the Pawnee Harvest Festival?’”

“Oh, he was just a horse… from Pawnee… in Canada.” Steve scratched the back of his neck. Explaining a fictional horse from a tv show seemed a little much at that moment. “He was at a festival, and everyone loved him. He passed away not soon after, but he was kind of a star.”

“Well no offense to Lil’ Sebastian,” Bucky said, “But I did find you in a trashy alleyway yesterday. You kinda smell.” Steve lifted an arm up, sniffing. Oh god.  It was bad.  That was  embarrassing.  

“Go shower, and I’ll lay out some clothes.  I have to leave for work, but I’ve got a spare key here,” he took it out of a kitchen drawer and set it on the counter. “If you wanna walk around, or somethin’.”

“Cool. Thank you.” Steve brushed his bangs out of his eyes, and smiled. Bucky smiled back, and Steve stood there for a moment before Bucky said,

“So the taps are a lil’ leaky, don’t worry ‘bout that. The water should be good though, and my clothes might be a lil’ big. But I hope that’s okay.”

“That’s perfect. Thank you…again,” Steve mumbled.  He turned to the bathroom, almost in a trance like state as he closed the door behind him.  He messed with the shower taps and took a hot shower. The steam filled the room, and Steve sighed deeply. Getting out, his toes curled on the cold ground as he grabbed a towel off the hook. He wiped the condensation off the mirror, studying his face in the reflection. His cheekbones, the way his hair didn’t stay perfectly (when wet or dry), his nose that was too big. What would anybody see in a face like this?

He towel-dried himself off, wrapping it twice around his waist before stepping back out into the apartment. Like Bucky had said, a new outfit was laid out for him. Or was it old to him? Steve pinched the brim of his nose, feeling a tension headache coming on. This was too much. This was like playing dress up in some huge city-wide reenactment.

Steve looked out the window. There were the gothic spires of the Saint Ann’s Church, and he could see the harbor. He felt antsy. Should he leave? Questions swirled in his mind as he slipped on the clothes. They were big, and Steve ended up rolling the sleeves of the shirt and the cuffs of the pants up several times. What if he couldn’t find his way back? He redid the knot on his tie twice. What if he got transported to another time? He stuffed his hands in the jacket pockets. What if he died? He looked in the mirror one more time, scoffing at how the clothes made him look even smaller than before. What if he changed the future?

“Fuck it,” Steve grumbled, leaving the apartment and locking the door behind him. He went down four flights of stairs to the bottom floor, and a little old woman called out by the mailboxes, making him skid to a stop.  

“Young man!”

“Me?” Steve managed to say. She smiled.

“Are you alright? I saw Bucky carrying you up to his place-- he told me you were visiting and had a spill.”

“Yeah, I fell down.” Steve rolled with the story. The woman rolled up her sleeves of her sweater with steady hands. Steve stepped forward, holding out his hand to shake. “Steve Rogers.”

“Lucy Perkins,” she took his hand in a strong grip.

“Oh, you’re Lucy!” Steve said.  “Bucky mentioned you.”  

Her eyes twinkled, and she tucked a silvery grey curl behind her ear. “Will you be staying with us long?”  Steve let out a chuckle. Wasn’t it just yesterday that he thought he would be staying in DC for another couple years?  Or 70 years in the future?

“As long as Bucky will let me stay,” Steve admitted.

“Well, he’s a sweet young man. A good friend. His mother and I were friends forever, and I helped him get that apartment, isn’t it wonderful? And he gets a special discount,” she said, tapping the side of her nose. “being the helpful guy he is.”

Steve smiled, she was really charming. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said.

“You be good to him now, he takes care of his friends well,” she said, smiling back and turning to go up the stairs. Steve opened his mouth, then closed it, and turned to the door. He stepped out to the street, turning left on the curb.

He had been to St Ann’s before, with his mom. She could go on for hours about Gothic architecture and the history behind it- and then pull his ear in the same breath for not paying enough attention.

She wasn’t even alive yet and he still missed her.

Steve walked for hours, up and down Henry Street, to the harbor, just observing. The people gave him odd looks, and he missed his headphones and music more than ever. The inflation rate threw him off. When he pulled out a twenty dollar bill to buy a bag of apples, the storekeeper gave him a really nasty look while counting out change. It was only after that Steve realized he basically just gave the owner a $300 bill.

As the sun sank lower in the sky, Steve sat on the curb and watched the night life begin to emerge. Drag queens on their way to work in the bars, men hurrying into alleyways. There were a few who openly checked him out, and one who came up to him, shirt half-way unbuttoned.

“Lookin’ ta make some money, punk?” he asked, winking. Steve smirked.

“Not tonight, thanks.”

“C’moooooon, just get me off and I’ll give you double what the last guy paid you,” he pleaded, his big brown eyes unfocused and Steve tried not to gag at how bad his breath stank.

“I think I saw some cute guys looking for fun go that way,” Steve gestured behind him. “Why don’t you try them?”

“Fine,” the man wobbled off. Steve rubbed his nose and began to find his way back to Montague.

A hand grabbed onto his shoulder.

“I told you, not interested!” Steve snapped, flipping around and bringing his fists up. Only to face Bucky, who held his hands up in response.

“Woah-- I thought it was you!”

“Bucky, sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He put his hands in his pockets. “I just saw you from across the street with that guy-- you alright?”

“Yeah, he was just drunk,” Steve said. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Bucky replied, smiling. “Well, I was gonna ask you if you wanted to get a drink, but if you don’t want to I--”

“I’m down for a drink,” Steve interrupted quickly. “I mean-- yeah, a drink would be great.”

“Awesome,” Bucky pointed up the street. “Let’s go to the St George. Bartender owes me a favor, so some free drinks tonight.” They began walking up the street.

“Seems like you help a lot of people,” Steve said. Bucky looked at him.

“What’cha mean?”

“I mean, I met Lucy Perkins when I left, and she said you’ve been super helpful around the building,” Steve explained. Bucky laughed.

“Oh, Lucy. She’s great. I owe her a lot. Totally overdoes it with the compliments, she’s like an aunt to me.”

“Hey there, Bucky,” a woman greeted them at the door. She fluttered her eyelashes and Steve shuffled his feet a little.

“Hey Mer, this is my friend Steve,” Bucky put his hand on Steve’s back. “We’re just here for a couple drinks.”

“Sounds good, we’ve missed you.”

“Pretty sure I was just here on Sunday,” Bucky teased.

“Like I said, we’ve missed you,” she pouted, gesturing to the bar. “Your seat’s open.” Bucky thanked her, then extended a hand out.

“After you,” he said to Steve. Steve walked forward to the bar, taking a seat on the metal stool. Bucky rapped his knuckles on the bar as he sat down and called out,

“Chris! We’ll take two Piels!” he grinned. The bartender looked up, saw Bucky, and grinned.

“You come here often?” Steve asked. “A genuine question, not a pickup line.”

Bucky laughed again. “Yeah, I like to unwind here. Meet a lot of good people around the neighborhood.”

Two beers slid down the bar, and as Steve sipped his, he looked around. It was smoky, but not choking. A small stage was at one side of the bar, and a pianist was playing a jazzy tune. People of all ages were here, and the conversation bubbled. Some of them saw Bucky and waved, or came over to say hi and gossip.

“Did’ya hear about Timmy?” a drag queen sat down next to Bucky and nudged his shoulder. “He and Donny were caught by Donny’s wife getting groceries.”

“No shit?” Bucky breathed.

“Yeah, no it’s bad.” Her Brooklyn accent was thick and natural.  She smacked her lips. “I heard she’s gonna tell the enlistment office that he’s a fairy,” she said, rubbing her pinky under her eye. “Think he’s gonna get arrested?”

“Shit.” Bucky stood up, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Steve, I gotta go. Meet you back at the apartment.”

“Okay?” Steve barely had time to say before Bucky was gone. The drag queen looked Steve up and down.

“You’re cute-- even with that outfit.” Steve looked at his outfit, still several sizes too big, the only thing fitting were his Converse.

“Thanks?” Steve replied, taking another sip of his beer. Bucky had only taken a sip of his, and it was still on the counter.

“How do you know Bucky?” she asked.

“Childhood friends,” Steve said vaguely. “You?”

“Oh sweetheart, everyone knows Bucky. What a Prince complex. Always looking out for people.” She smiled at him, then trotted off to go gossip with someone else. Steve put his elbows up on the table, resting his head on his hands.

“Please leave me alone!” A woman’s soft cry made the pianist falter in the corner, and Steve looked up, turning toward her. A man had his hand on her arm, gripping it and she looked close to tears.

“Quiet now, sugar. Everything’s okay, folks! Just a little misunderstanding!” the man called out, standing up. “Let’s go.”  
“I--” she was pulled up out of her seat. Steve hopped off the stool and moved in front of the door.

“I don’t think she wants to go with you,” he said, puffing his chest a little and looking up at the man. The man’s dark beady eyes blinked twice, as if he couldn’t believe Steve was standing right there.

“Move aside, scrawny. This ain’t none of your business.”

“She doesn’t want to go with you,” Steve clenched his jaw. “Let her stay. You and I can take this outside.”

“Oh, really now?” the man barked out a laugh.

“Really.” Steve drew back his arm and socked him in the face. A gasp rippled through the crowd as the man staggered back, letting go of the woman. He sniffed, rubbing his bloody nose on the sleeve of his jacket and scrunching his face up. Steve shook out his hand, trying not to react to how much that actually hurt. The man swung his arm back and hit Steve across the face, making him crumple backwards. He saw stars, shaking his head to clear the black fuzziness around his vision.

“Hey asshole!” the drag queen from the bar grabbed the man’s shoulder and flipped him around enough to have her fist connect with his face. He groaned loudly, clutching his nose and stumbling out of the bar. Steve stood up, raising his hand to feel the ache in his cheek. The bar was silent for a moment, then there was a scattered handful of applause. The pianist started back up again, as well as the conversations.

“Thanks,” he winced.

“Yeah, you seemed real helpless without me,” she smiled. “My name’s Suzy. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. “My name’s Steve.”

“So you and Bucky, the heroes around town?” she smirked, opening a pocket mirror.

“Just doing what needed to be done,” Steve shrugged. Suzy cursed, looking at her reflection.

“Fucked up my makeup. Goddammit, I have a ball in 20 minutes.”

“Do you need help?” Steve asked.

“Are you an artist?”

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“Can you do makeup?”

“I’m not bad at it.”

“I’ll owe you.”

“I’ll do it for free.”

“Done.”

And that was how Steve found himself in the theatre bathroom, touching up drag queens’ makeup and taking requests for portraits to do later. He made two dollars just on tips and while he initially felt poorly, he heard Sam’s voice in his head chiding him for forgetting that was about thirty dollars profit.

“You’re cute, baby,” Suzy kissed his cheek when he finished around midnight. “Thanks for all your help. Maybe you could make this a job?”

“I guess I could.”

“Every Friday, Monday, Wednesday, and sometimes holidays me and my girls do shows. We need a makeup artist and if you can paint posters that would be good too. We can pay good money.” She grinned, her knuckles still slightly red.

\-----

Steve found his way back to Montague in the dead of night, avoiding stepping into the alleyways where both quiet and loud moans harmonized under the stars. The apartment was empty. He kicked off his shoes and stretched, feeling his neck pop slightly as he rolled his head. After he washed his hands and face in the sink, Steve curled up on the couch under the thin blanket Bucky had used last night. It smelled like mothballs, and cologne. He opened his sketchbook on his lap, and started to sketch his view of the windows of the church. He fell asleep with the book open on his lap.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!! The response has been amazing and I am really looking forward to sharing the rest of this c: 
> 
> This has been beta'd, but I take full responsibility for any historical/grammatical errors ;w;
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated thank you just for reading!!
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr!](http://www.yourbfbucky.tumblr.com/)


	3. I Could Write a Book

[I Could Write a Book](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XGuaoiI1bSc)

 

Steve woke up in the bed, cuddled up next to the flat pillow. Bucky was sitting at the table, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper. There was a box next to him, and his hand was wrapped up in bandages. Steve sat up, and Bucky looked at him.

“What happened to your face?” he asked. Steve swung his legs out of bed and stood up, padding over to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee.

“Good morning to you too. What happened to your hand?”

“Good morning,” Bucky rectified, then repeated, “What happened to your face?” Steve poked his head into the bathroom and saw what Bucky was talking about. A bruise had formed on the side of his face, big and purple.

“Some guy at the bar was being an asshole. I punched him in the face, he hit me back. I’ve had worse.”

“You really did that?!” Bucky’s eyes were wide. “I thought Suzy was making shit up again-- Goddammit Steve, Scotty Wood is three times your size!”

“And?” Steve slumped into the kitchen, grabbing the coffee pot and a cup.

“You just punched him in the face?”

“Um… yeah?”

“Where did you go last night?” Steve asked, pouring a cup of coffee. Bucky raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side slightly.

“What?”

“After Suzy--”

“Oh!” Bucky rubbed his jaw. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you there like that-- I just went to go talk to Donny’s wife, that’s all.”

“Is she gonna tell the enlistment office?” Steve asked. Bucky smirked.

“Not anymore, to say the least.”

“What did you do?” Steve asked.

“I just reminded her that we all have secrets.” Bucky shrugged.  “She also isn’t the purest when it comes to her marriage vows.” He lifted his cup and took a long drink of coffee. Steve raised his eyebrows at him.

“You blackmailed her.”

Bucky didn’t flinch as he set his cup down, sighing gently. “She was going to do the same thing with Donny. He doesn’t deserve what they’d do to him.  And he’s gotten his orders. He’ll be gone soon enough and she’ll have a chance of freedom.” He stood up, taking his cup and putting it in the sink.

“Adultery is one thing,” he said, walking back to the table to face Steve. “Destroying someone for love is another.” Steve opened his mouth, then closed it, deciding instead to take another drink of coffee.

“This is for you,” Bucky continued, pushing the box toward Steve. “Open it.” Steve lifted the lid to find shirts, slacks and ties, even two jackets and a pair of pajama pants. All Steve’s size, or just about. Steve looked at Bucky, his brow furrowed.

“How did you get these?” he asked. He didn’t want Bucky paying for clothes he could very well afford himself. Bucky sipped his coffee and shrugged coolly.

“Neighborhood takes care of each other.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Well, I do,” Bucky said with a wink. “The punks around here were happy to lend a hand, and I hear you’re well-known with the ladies down at the theatre already.” Steve felt his cheeks pinken a little, and busied himself with rummaging through the box.

“I can pay for this,” he said. Bucky waved a hand.

“You’re fine. You can help me with the rent.”

“Fine.”

“Go try on some clothes-- at least, if they won’t fall off those skinny arms of yours.” Bucky smirked, sipping his coffee.

“Jerk,” Steve grumbled.

“Punk,” Bucky shot back.

 

\----

 

Bucky showed him around town that day, Steve feeling strangely dressed up in his tie and shirt, adjusting it every so often as Bucky told him stories: from getting in trouble for joking during basic training:

“And so I said to the Sergeant: “Betcha a kiss on the mouth I can’t hit that target on the other side of the base.” and he said, “If you have a mouth on you like that in the field the Germans will kill ya’ before you can even fire.” And so I knelt down with my rifle, and shot that target dead on three times.  Then I stood up, brushed off my pants, and said, “Well Sarge, pucker up.” I got to run laps for 3 hours, but it was so worth it to see that old guy splutter.  Plus, there are talks about promotions based on talent.  Think I could be a Sergeant, Steve?”

The characters he ran into while working at the garage:

“So this guy comes in right, this guy with a German accent, right? And all of the guys are getting angrier and angrier at this little ol’ soft speaking guy who’s done ‘nothing wrong to them. So I stepped in, fixed his transmission, and he tipped me five whole dollars! I got some oranges and a new tie. I think it’s better to just stand up for the little guy-- not that you need any standing up for from what I hear of Scotty Wood’s nose.”

The dances Bucky had been to:

“Steve, I’ll tell ya, these girls in their dresses, and the men in their suits, twirling around like nobody’s business. Just gorgeous Steve, I tell you. You know how to dance? No? I’ll teach ya, Steve. It’s real easy. And you’re talkin’ to a master here! I have the slickest moves this side of the Bridge.”

He pointed out all the bars he went to, they ate sandwiches by the harbor, and that night when they got back to the apartment, Bucky cooked dinner while Steve took first shower. The stew was a little thicker that night.

Steve came out of the bathroom wearing pajama pants and a tank top from the box of lend-me-downs. Bucky handed him his bowl and half of the bread they bought together. They ate quietly, and Steve's mind raced with possible conversations he could have with Bucky. So far, it had been all of Bucky's jokes they had laughed at.

"Um," Steve said, breaking the silence and making Bucky look up from tearing his bread into chunks. "Do you wanna, see my sketchbook?"

"Sure!" Bucky smiled. Steve brought the book over from where he had stashed it in the bedside nightstand.

"So, I have this assignment to complete 200 pages of sketches for a class,” he said, setting the book down and sitting next to Bucky. “They can't be little ones either, they gotta be whole page things with details and stuff. So this one," Steve opened the book. "This is one of my best friends. Natasha. She's super cool- she's a dancer from Russia, and she's an incredible ballet dancer. She says the classes in Russia are "way harder" and says she would dance pointe in the cold with wolves biting at her ankles as a kid." Bucky's hand reached out, and he hesitated before asking,

"Can I touch it?"

"Um, sure?" Steve asked. Bucky's finger traced the line of her cheekbone ever so softly.

"She's gorgeous."

"Yeah, way out of my league," Steve chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. Bucky turned the page. "That's Clint, he's one of my other really good friends. He's undeclared, but he keeps winning awards in Archery contests around the world, so he's set on money and career for now. I bet anything he's just gonna major in sign language, which he's been fluent in since before I met him. Oh, and he really likes birds. That's why he's got the hawk. His archery logo is of a hawk with arrows, and his nickname is Hawkeye," Steve rambled, feeling his face pinking as Bucky listened.

Bucky pointed to Sam. "Does he like Disney cartoons?"

"Yeah, he's a softie. He's a psychology major, and he's having to psychoanalyze someone for his final. This sketchbook is my final, his will probably just be a simple presentation. He likes birds too. He and Clint argue about them all the time but they're such nerds. It's more like a bird watcher's meeting than anything else-- sorry I hope I'm not boring you." Steve blushed and stammered as Bucky froze midyawn, shaking his head.

"No, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I got home late last night and I'm just a little tired. It's not you at all, please, go on." Bucky turned the page, and Steve swallowed. "Who's she?"

"My girlfriend. Well, now, my ex-girlfriend." Bucky's hand froze from where it was tapping on the table.

"Man, Steve- you hang out with some gorgeous dames!"

Steve forced a chuckle. "Yeah. They're pretty great. But she wants a better career... and unfortunately that doesn't include me," he said, shrugging. "She would always forget our dates and stuff. It just kinda fell apart slowly and naturally I...guess..." Steve trailed off as Bucky put a hand on his shoulder.

"That's tough, buddy. I'm sorry."

"Thanks. It's all good though, really."

"That's good," Bucky leaned back in his chair and looked at Steve. "So I told you a lot about myself, and you've told me a lot about your friends- but what about you?"

"What about me?" Steve asked.

"Well, all I know about you is that you’ve lived in Canada, you’re an artist, you’re gonna enlist, your parents have passed leaving you all alone on my doorstep,” Bucky teased. “But seriously-- tell me about yourself.”

“Born here in Brooklyn,” Steve began but Bucky sat forward suddenly and interrupted him.

“No shit?! How can that be? Thought I knew everyone ‘round here.”

“I dunno,” Steve said vaguely. “Um, my dad died in the...war.” Desert Storm. “My mom was a nurse at a hospital, and got TB.” Drug resistant, wouldn’t have been fatal normally… “She died. Um, then I moved up to Canada and lived there with a relative until… Pearl Harbor.” Steve racked his brain for events he could reference. Natasha would be so much better at this. “Then I just wanted to enlist.”

“You didn’t get drafted?”

“No, I didn’t.” Steve said. Bucky’s brows furrowed slightly, then relaxed as he smiled.

“Wow, that’s quite a story, Stevie.”

“I live to entertain,” Steve said drily.

“You’re also a punk with a death wish,” Bucky continued. “Enlisting? Why do that? You could be perfectly safe here at home.”

“Why? I could go over there, and even if I help one person it would be better than sitting here,” Steve felt himself bristling up.

“You fight a guy three times your size over a woman you don’t even know, and you’re going to enlist even though you literally could be the last man in America not to serve?” Bucky asked.

“Nothing left to lose,” Steve snapped. Bucky stood up.

“Gonna shower.” He walked into the bathroom without another word.

The door shut with a click and Steve sat back in his chair. He finished his stew and wiped the bowl clean with his bread. After he took it to the kitchen and washed his and Bucky’s dishes, he went over to the nightstand drawer and pulled out his phone. Holding the buttons down, he muttered, “Please, please, please turn on.”

The phone didn’t listen. Steve felt rage flare in his heart, and threw the phone against the floor. The previously near-flawless screen cracked. Steve swore, stalking over to it and throwing it in the trash. Then he laid down on the couch, crossing his arms tight, and fumed at the ceiling.

 

\-----

 

The next morning, Steve sat on the stairs for what seemed like hours, until he saw her shuffling to the mailboxes.

“Lucy!”

“Oh, Steve! I didn’t see you there-- how are you? I heard about what happened the other night, thank you. Scott Wood is a no good sumbitch who had it coming.” Her quick change from light greeting to scathing review made Steve chuckle a little.

“It was nothing,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Look, Lucy- I need a favor.”

“What is it?”

“I need help enlisting...I’ve just gotten back from being out of the country for a while. I don’t quite know what they want.”

“No worries, sweetpea. Why don’t you come back to my apartment?” Lucy turned, and Steve followed her down the hallway. They went into her apartment, a tiny thing but cozy. She had two comfy chairs and she gestured for Steve to take a seat. “Do you like milk and sugar with your tea, dear?”

“No thank you, ma’m,” he said.  “Do you need any help?”

“No, but thank you. I can see why Bucky likes you, so courteous.” Steve’s face burned. Lucy poked her head out from the kitchen doorway. “You okay? You’re as read as a tomato in the sun.”

“We-- Bucky and I-- we had a fight last night.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, sweetpea,” Lucy tutted from the kitchen.  “Can I ask what it was about?”

“I just-- I want to enlist.  And Bucky got angry at me, and he hasn’t before. But I kinda snapped at him.”

“Steve, he’s just bitter. All the men who got drafted are, but Bucky’s a protective soul,” Lucy came out with a tea tray.  Steve stood up to help and she shooed him away after setting the tray down on the living room table.  “When we heard about Pearl Harbor he was sitting right where you are,” she gestured at Steve’s chair.  “And he leaped up like his ass was on fire and ran to the enlistment office. He volunteered. But there are many men here who got drafted who have families. Who have medical problems. Bucky is the first one in line to fight against the draft, and he just is probably worried about you.”

“Me?” Steve asked. Lucy raised an eyebrow, pouring him a cup of steaming tea.

“Why yes, you. I heard about the barfight. You standing up for that girl against Scotty Wood.  You’re either very brave,” Steve smiled. “Or very stupid.” He felt his chest deflate, and tried to mask his disappointment with a sip of tea. His tongue went numb as the tea burned his mouth.

“But I’m gonna go with just dumb courage,” Lucy continued. “Not many people would. And you’re tiny!”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve grumbled.

“Oh sweetpea,” Lucy sipped from her cup. “Don’t take it as a bad thing, it’s who ya’ are! Bucky’s a dark horse, but he doesn’t let that stop him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh honey, his momma married an awful man. A Scotty Wood type o’ character. He had money when they married, lost it quick. Gambling, drugs, the drink. Bucky’d get beat, run for the night. Stay with me, or with someone ‘round here. He’d get in trouble for staying under girls’ beds.”

“That sounds like him,” Steve mumbled.

“Oh Bucky’s just a romantic.” Lucy waved a hand. “He’s sweet on everyone. But my point is, he fought back against his father once. Only once. That was all it took for that man to get the hell out of New York.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Steve asked.

“Because I don’t want you to give up on him,” Lucy said.

“Why would I?”

“Bucky believes in you. He likes you. I think you two are good for each other. After his mom and sister moved out of the city, he needs a family. He doesn’t want you to leave him too.”

Steve swallowed thickly, his gaze falling to the floor. He never thought of it that way before.

“But, honey--” Lucy brought his attention back.  “If you wanna enlist, let’s get you enlisted. I think you’d be very dashing in a uniform.”

 

\-----

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said that night during dinner.

“For what?” Bucky replied, giving him a concerned look. “You didn’t steal my stash of chocolate, did you?”

“No,” Steve smiled. “I’m just sorry for arguing. I didn’t mean to be angry at you.”

“It’s okay, Steve. Thanks for just being honest with me.”  Bucky stood up from the table, his chair scraping backwards. “The night’s still young. Wanna get a drink?”

“I have work,” Steve said, standing up too to grab his supplies. “Gotta do makeup.”

“Ah, okay,” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “Tomorrow then!”

“Tomorrow,” Steve promised.

 

\-----

 

The  fell into a rhythm. Bucky would cook, Steve would clean. Bucky didn’t ask many questions about Steve’s life other than what came up naturally in conversation, to which Steve was grateful. Bucky had work every day but the weekends, and Steve worked at the drag queen balls at night but during the day he did artistry. Whether it was portraits or little cards, or paintings on the walls of apartments around the building, he offered to do it all. The cash he had in his wallet gave him enough to buy supplies, and he was soon in high demand after his skills became the talk of the neighborhood.

Steve heart began to ache less and less, but he wondered occasionally if his friends were looking for him. “MISSING FROM SMITHSONIAN,” he imagined as the headline. Did people miss him?

When he wasn’t working the nights, he would be sitting in the bars with Bucky, or they’d be hanging out in their apartment.

He kept sketching as well. Steve had filled in ten more pages since his second night in 1943, each one increasingly more complicated and detailed. There was the Brooklyn Bridge, the view of the harbor from the window of the apartment, a stray cat that Bucky left scraps out for, a profile of Lucy after she had helped Steve during his first enlistment process (the officers took one look at him and laughed him out the door), and Bucky.

There were a lot of pictures of Bucky. Bucky’s face. His hands. His arms. Back. Chest.  Caricature “studies.” All of the pictures were done under the guise of “practice.” But it wasn’t like it was work at all. (284 pages left)

 

\-----

 

It was the 13th of June that Bucky came home drunk, a Sunday. Steve was sketching. He felt content that night. He had just painted a wall for one of their neighbors baby room, and he had earned quite a bit of money and a fresh baked Apple Pie as a tip.

Bucky came in late with a box under one arm, and a swagger in his step. He was singing- crooning. Steve felt his heart flutter a little. Bucky had mentioned he could sing, but this was the first time Steve had heard his voice.

“If they ask me, I could write a book.”

Bucky tapped his toes, spinning. His jacket was hooked on one finger, draped over his shoulder. His hair slightly mussed. His collar popped. Steve swallowed.

“About the way you walk and whisper and look!”

Bucky set the box down on the table pointing at Steve. Steve closed the sketchbook and adjusted his collar. “Did you have a good day?” he asked calmly.

“I could write a preface on how we met!”

Bucky drew out the “how”, spinning around and tossing the jacket over a chair.

“So the world would never forget/

“And the simple secret of the plot/

“Is just to tell them that I love you... a lot!”

“Bucky, you’re drunk, aren’t you?” Steve asked. Bucky laughed, walking up to Steve and grabbing his hands.

“C’mere, punk. I wanna dance with you.”

“Bucky,” Steve rolled his eyes, but stood up anyway. The smell of whiskey on Bucky’s breath was evident. “Jerk,” he grumbled.

“Then the world discovers as my book ends/

“How to make... two lovers... of friends!”

Bucky swung him around, spinning gracefully and holding his hands. Steve smiled beside himself. “What a Sinatra.” Bucky’s blue eyes crinkled in smile.

“Y’know,” Bucky pulled him in closer. “I am pretty smooth.” Steve felt his breath hitch. Bucky’s hands moved to his waist, and his mouth was so close to Steve’s ear that Steve could feel the hot breath.

“And the simple secret of the plot/

“Is just to tell them that I love you a lot”

Bucky still swayed, and Steve swallowed. In a warbly voice, he sang,

“Then the world discovers as my book ends"

Bucky pulled his head back and grinned.

“How to make two lovers of friends!” They sang together. Bucky hummed the instrumental portion while Steve just tried not to step on his toes. They did this for a long time, interrupted a couple times by laughing or Bucky’s occasional hiccup.

“Oh, man. I’m gonna-” Bucky wobbled a little after the third or fourth rendition. “Gotta grab the -hic- couch.”

“Oh no,” Steve put his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, guiding him toward the bed. “C’mon, Mister. Time for bed.”

“I don’t wannaaaaaa- Steeb-”

“Steeb?” Steve scoffed.

“Steevieeeee,” Bucky whined, sitting down on the bed. “Please don’t make me go to bed!”

“Big day tomorrow!” Steve bent down to untie Bucky’s shoes. Bucky was definitely drunk, and definitely wouldn’t remember this the next day. “I’m gonna enlist again tomorrow.”

“Idiot,” Bucky smacked his lips. “Where from now?”

“Haven’t decided yet.” Steve said, shrugging. “I’ll ask Lucy tomorrow.”

“You’re- you’re so cute. You should just wait for me to come back. I’ll be a- a hero,” Bucky slurred. “Best shooter in the US army-- you’ll see.”

“Come back?” Steve repeated quietly. He slipped Bucky’s shoes off and as he stood up, Bucky grabbed him by his suspenders.

“Steve,” Bucky said- a little clearer- “You gotta. Not. I mean it. You’re too small.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Says you and 3 doctors. So what?”

“Sooooo I wanna see you… when I... “ Bucky yawned, laying down slowly.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” said Steve, putting a blanket over his drunk roommate.

“Night, Stevie.” Bucky was out. Steve, on the other hand, felt his ribs start to ache with anxiety. He walked silently over to the box in the kitchen, and opened it. Suddenly, he felt empty.

An olive green uniform, pressed and tailored lay inside, with the hat on top. A unfolded letter with crumple creases lay inside.

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, you are hereby ordered to report for duty at 0600 hours at the Navy shipyard on June 15th. You are assigned with the 107th Infantry, stationed in England. Please-” Steve’s eyes stung with tears. This was always in the abstract, hypothetical thought. Never did he think- that they would actually--

He laid the paper back in the box, and ran his hand over the breast pocket of the jacket. “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes,” he murmured. He looked over at the sleeping body of his friend, who was leaving the day after tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everytime I get an email from Ao3 my heart soars- the response makes my day brighter and puts a smile on my face!  
> This has arguably one of my favorite scenes so far from this fic, and it was going to be a lot shorter and then I thought "What the hell?" so this was born. I hope you all enjoy Sinatra-singing Bucky as much as I do ;w;
> 
> This chapter has not been beta'd so any historical/grammatical errors are fully my own haha
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated thank you just for reading!!
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr!](http://www.yourbfbucky.tumblr.com)


	4. Just Can't Look

[Just Can’t Look](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o1gLGjPFkRA)

 

“O'Connell, Michael….Kaminski, Henry….” names read off the sheets by nurses and doctors, only interrupted by the nervous flutter of newspapers and tapping feet on the ground.

“Boy, a lot of guys getting killed over there.” A man sitting next to Steve had his nails bit down to the quick, and his hands shook slightly as he flipped through a newspaper.

“Rogers, Stephen,” a doctor drawled. Steve put down his paper, tapping his jacket to feel the corner of his sketchbook (183 pages left, after sketching a sleeping Bucky the night before) and stood up.

“Kinda makes you think twice about enlisting, huh?” the man continued, looking at Steve with concerned brown eyes.

“Nope.” Steve rolled his neck. The first three times went poorly, but he had a feeling about this place. A couple of guys in the neighborhood said the doctor’s here were a little more fair, a little more aware of strength of will, rather than physical attributes.

“Rogers,” the doctor looked him up and down as Steve stepped up to the plate. He held the fourth form Steve’s filled out, and had the same expression as the three other doctors Steve had seen. “What did your father die of?”

“Mustard gas,” Steve said, his gaze steady as he lied. Well, not really. When he had told Lucy his father had died in a war from chemicals, she nodded solemnly and said, “My husband too. Mustard Gas.”

Then he remembered what Bucky’s letter had said. “He was in the 107th infantry. I was hoping I could be assigned--”

“Mother?” the doctor interrupted. Steve felt his jaw tighten slightly but answered,

“She was a nurse in a TB ward. Got hit. Couldn't shake it.” He glanced down at the doctor’s hands over his form and then back up. The doctor almost seemed remorseful, sighing through his nose and giving Steve one more once-over.

“Sorry, son.”

“Please, just give me a chance--”

“You’ll be ineligible on your asthma alone.” Steve cursed inwardly on including that on this form.

“Is there anything you can do?” he pressed.

“I'm doing it,” the doctor said, picking up the dreaded stamp. “I'm saving your life.”

 

\---------

 

Steve stepped outside of the enlistment office, rubbing the back of his neck. He

He was angry. Angry, and sad, and alone. Bucky didn’t know he had seen the letter. Bucky didn’t know. It was any other day to him.

But it was Steve’s nightmare.

Then Bucky hadn’t shown up to the theater. Steve had invited him to see the Disney film, Saludos Amigos. Bucky had promised (through a wicked hangover) that he would be there. But then he didn’t show. So Steve gave his ticket to a woman with two children, and went by himself.

That’s probably why he picked a fight with the asshole in the seat in front of him. Disrespectful shit made light of the men and women crying in the theater. Even with bad ears, Steve could hear their sniffles and their wobbly chins. The asshole, demanding the cartoon start. The fucking cartoon-- Steve’s rationalization was hit right out of his head as he was thrown into the alleyway wall. When the guy had stood up, all six feet of him, Steve’s chest puffed and he jutted his jaw up. Fuck that guy.

Well. Maybe.

As he was flung into the other corner, he grabbed a garbage can lid on the ground and held out in front of him as he stood up. The asshole shook out his hand and grinned. He lunged forward and grabbed the makeshift shield out of Steve’s grasp, shoving him down again. Steve scrambled to his feet, holding his fists up as he tried to see through the mess of hair in his face. There was a warm feeling by his chin.

“You just don't know when to give up, do you?”

“Fight me,” Steve taunted weakly, stepping forward and trying to hit back. The guy grabbed his arm with one hand and Steve saw stars as he was hit again. His vision blurred, and he toppled down to the ground.  A stinging feeling grew on the side of his face, and he scrunched his entire face as he winced.

“Hey,” a familiar voice called out.  “Pick on someone your own size!” A sound of fist connecting with bone. The scraping of a pair of shoes running away. “Y’know,” Bucky said, brushing off his hands as he walked up to Steve, “Sometimes I think you like getting punched.” Steve stood up shakily, his hands on his knees as he panted.

“I had ‘em on the ropes,” he muttered.

“Hmm,” Bucky reached down to pick up Steve’s fallen sketchbook and scoffed as the most recent enlistment form showed its traitorous face. “How many times is this? Oh, you’re from Paramus now.” Steve rolled his eyes, looking over his clothes for tears or blood as Bucky continued his lecture. “You know it's illegal to lie on your enlistment form. And seriously, Jersey?” Steve looked up.

Dressed in that pressed olive green uniform, his hat tilted to one side like the cocky bastard Steve knew, and he filled it like it was a second skin. Steve shook his head and played dumb.

“You get your orders?” he asked, wiping his nose on his hand and grimacing at the blood.

“Sergeant James Barnes,” Bucky said. “Shipping out for England first thing tomorrow.” Steve’s stomach dropped and he fought his knees from shaking.

“I should be going,” Steve muttered. Bucky looked him up and down, and Steve wondered if he knew. If he knew just how scared Steve was, if he didn’t want to go, if he remembered that night. Then Bucky’s face broke into a smile.

“Come on, man,” he said, stepping forward to put an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “It’s my last night.” He let go and made a noise of disgust at the alleyway grime on Steve’s back. “Gotta get you cleaned up.”

“Why, where’re we going?” Steve asked.

“The future,” Bucky put a newspaper up to Steve’s chest. Steve’s heart skipped a beat as he unfolded it. The headline read: STARK EXPO

“Your convention?” Steve tried to mask his disappointment.

“I got you a ticket. Last day here, I wanna have some fun,” Bucky grinned. They walked about a block down toward the apartment before Steve said,

“You’re late.”

“Probably wouldn’t have been able to find you if I hadn’t come then,” Bucky nudged him with his arm.

“Don’t get blood on your uniform,” Steve muttered.

“You know, this reminds me of when we first met,” Bucky teased. “In an alleyway, you all dirty and beaten up.”

“Jerk.” Steve crossed his arms. “Can I have my sketchbook back?”

“Not until you call me your knight in shining armor.”

“Are you kidding?! I was fine!” Steve exclaimed.

“Sure, and that guy was a pacifist.”

“That guy was a jackass,” Steve sniffed.

 

\------

 

Steve changed his clothes, Bucky making a face at the dirty jacket.  “You can’t stand up for everyone, Steve.”

“I can sure as hell try,” Steve grumbled, hopping on one leg to put on his slacks. “So you did get promoted to Sergeant.”

“Yeah! Skills-based promotion, they said. Okay, I have to show you something.” Bucky rummaged in his pocket and brought out a pocketknife. Flicking it open, he pulled up the covers and the sheets on one side of the mattress.  “See how I’ve repaired this?” he said, gesturing to crude hand-stitching holding a tear together. Steve winced as Bucky cut the stitches apart then reached into the mattress, grabbing hold of something-- a zipper pouch-- and tossing it to Steve.  He caught it barely, weighing it in his hands.

“What is it?”

“Cash.” Bucky shrugged, closing the knife and slipping it back into his pocket.

“Bucky!” Steve unzipped the pouch and gasped. There was a lot of cash in there, way more than a Brooklyn Mechanic should have. “I have a job!”

“Yeah, but what happens when it gets cold? Or you run out of things to paint?” Bucky asked, fixing the sheets around the bed.

“Bucky--” Steve tried to interject, but Bucky was on a roll.

“Okay so, Lucy has agreed to help you out if you need it. I called in a few favors with the guys around here--” He stood up, running a hand through his hair.

“Bucky--” Steve walked over to him.

“There’s an opening at the factory--

“Bucky!!” Steve near-shouted. “Shut up! I’m gonna be fine!”

“Steve!” Bucky looked him right in the eyes. “You better be fine! I’m leaving you my place and it better still be here when I get back!”

“Fine!” Steve threw up his arms. Bucky put his hands on Steve’s shoulders. Steve’s chest tightened and he lowered his arms.

“The war will be over soon.”

“Okay.” Steve nodded. He didn’t need to tell Bucky the truth.

“I’ll be back to keep you out of trouble,” it seemed like Bucky was reassuring himself more than Steve.

“Let’s go,” Bucky said, his voice lowered. “I have a surprise for you,” he smiled.

“Okay,” Steve murmured, smiling back.

 

\-----

 

“How did today go?” Bucky asked as they entered the Stark Expo.  It was flashy, lights and music playing loudly. Steve was reminded of going to Disneyland with his parents as a kid. It felt just like being in Tomorrowland.

“They kicked me out.” Steve ran a hand through his bangs.

“I don't see what your problem is,” Bucky said. Steve clenched his fists in his jacket. “You know, you’re about to be the last eligible man in New York.”

“Uh huh,” Steve turned his head away and rolled his eyes.

“You know, there’s about three and a half million women here.”

“Yeah,” Steve puffed his cheeks and sighed, following in step with Bucky’s stride. “I’d settle for just one.” Person.

“Good thing I took care of that.” Bucky smirked, raising a hand. Steve looked up at him, his mouth agape.

“No, no, no,” Steve murmured.

“Hey, Bucky!” the dark haired girl called out, waving. Her friend, a blonde was next to her, craning her neck to see Bucky’s friend. Even from there, Steve could see her face fall as she realized it was Steve.

“What'd you tell her about me?” Steve asked, loud enough for Bucky to hear.

“Only the good stuff,” Bucky looked at him, mirth in his gorgeous blue eyes.

Steve felt his third wheeling as soon as the girl glared at him. She was pretty, sure. But she also had eyes for the tall brunette in the army outfit. The Sergeant.

He retracted his offer of sharing his popcorn, and turned from Howard Stark’s incredible flying car (which didn’t end up working, maybe his son Tony was a little better versed in actual mechanics) to see the fair’s recruitment office. Uncle Sam’s expectant stare seemed to burn his chest. Steve glanced at Bucky, whose hands were in his pockets as he rocked on his heels in merriment.

Bucky didn’t need to be troubled by this.

Steve moved through the crowd, striding toward the door. He met Uncle Sam’s stare, and walked into the lobby.

“C’mon, soldier!” a girl giggling caught his attention, as she pulled her guy away. Steve walked up to the weighted scale, stepping up.  

“Fuck,” he muttered.

The stupid weighted scale mirror trick that was supposed to put his face amongst the troops, it was too short. Like everything in his life.

“Come on,” a hand clapped on his shoulder, pushing him slightly forward. “You’re kinda missing the point of a double date. We're taking the girls dancing.” Bucky was already turning and walking away when Steve said,

“You go ahead, I'll catch up with you.”

Bucky turned back and looked at him. Steve didn’t meet his eyes at first.

“You really gonna do this again?” Bucky’s tone was sharp. Steve feigned innocence and shrugged.

“Well it's a fair, I'm gonna to try my luck.”

“As who, Steve from Ohio?” Bucky now looked angry, his blue eyes usually filled with mirth now sharp and narrowed. “You know they'll catch you-- or worse they'll actually take you.” Steve looked down, his fists clenching in his jacket pockets.

“Look, I know you don't think I can do this, but--” he started to say.

“This isn't a back alley, Steve, it's war!” Bucky exclaimed.

“I know it's a war,” Steve grumbled.

“Why are you so keen to fight?! There are so many important jobs-

“What am I going to do, collect scrap in my little red wagon?”

“Yes, I know that I'd--”

“I'm not going to sit in a factory, Bucky--”

“Feel better about--”

“Bucky! Come on, there are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That's what you don't understand. This isn't about me.”

“Right,” Bucky said. “'Cause you got ‘nothing to prove.” They looked at each other, not blinking-- Steve wasn’t even breathing.

“Hey Sarge! Are we going dancing?” The girl’s voice rang out, breaking their gaze. Bucky bit his lip, a smile coming back on his face as he turned ‘round and called back,

“Yes, we are!” But when he turned back, his face was serious again. He sighed deeply, stepping backward, as he said, “Don't do anything stupid until I get back.”

“How can I?” Steve asked, trying to smile again despite the lump in his throat. Bucky must have decided not to sleep in his own bed that night. Steve didn’t know if he would see him again. “You're taking all the stupid with you.” Bucky stopped, and a smile tugged on the corner of his lips as he came back over to Steve.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling Steve into a hug. “You're a punk.”

Steve’s brain froze, and the only thing he could muster out was a croaky, “Jerk.”

“Be careful,” Bucky said, pulling away and beginning to walk back to the girls.

Steve bit his lip, then threw out, “Don't win the war 'til I get there!” Bucky turned around with the dancer’s grace he had, and saluted him. Steve felt his cheeks get red, but he didn’t care.

“Come on girls,” he heard Bucky say. “They’re playing our song.” Steve tried not to think of the night before. Stepping on Bucky’s toes. Holding his hands. Pressed to his chest. The smell of whiskey but with clear eyes.

Later, he would sketch Bucky saluting (182 Pages). But first, he would go and try again. Maybe leave on the same ship. He was feeling pretty lucky.

  
  


\------

 

The nurse had a nervous look on her face when she came and whispered something in the doctor’s ear. Steve looked up from unbuttoning his cuffs.

“Wait here,” the doctor said.

“Is there a problem?” Steve asked, trying to keep his tone level.

“Just wait here.” The doctor pulled the curtain closed behind him.

Shit, Steve thought. He glanced behind him at the sign. ‘It is illegal to falsify your enlistment form’, it read. Right behind him. Shit shit shit. Steve’s eyes flicked around the area, then he got off the table where he was sitting and hurried to his shoes. Maybe if he feigned illness, if he said he had a date waiting for him-- His train of thought was interrupted by a Military Police officer coming into the examination room. Steve’s mouth opened and he sat up. But then another man came in. Wearing a brown suit and tie, he thanked the officer softly and the officer left, closing the curtains behind him.

“So,” the man said, opening a file. “You want to go overseas? Kill some Nazis? Mmm?” He had a German accent. Steve’s brow furrowed.

“Excuse me?”

“Doctor Abraham Erskine,” Doctor Erskine stepped forward, holding out his hand. “I work with the Strategic Scientific Reserve.”

“Steve Rogers,” Steve said, shaking his hand. Erskine stepped over to the examination table, opening the file and looking over it. “Where are you from?” Steve asked impulsively. Erskine looked up at him, then back at the paperwork.

“Queens. 73rd Street and Utopia Parkway. Before that, Germany.” He paused and looked Steve up and down. “This troubles you?” Steve shook his head.

“Where are you from, Mr. Rogers?” The doctor’s question made Steve’s heart drop. “Hmm? Is it, New Haven? Or, Paramus? Five exams in five different cities--”

“That might not be the right file,” Steve interrupted, swallowing the lump in his throat. He and Lucy hadn’t talked about what might happen if he was actually caught.

“It's not the exams I'm interested in,” the doctor finished, looking up at Steve through clear round glasses and smiled. “It's the five tries. But you didn't answer my question.” Steve’s mind went blank, and the doctor repeated in his soft accent, “Do you want to kill Nazis?”

“Is this a test?” Steve asked. The doctor nodded.

“Yes.”

Steve took a beat and gathered his thoughts before saying, “I don't want to kill anyone. I don't like bullies. I don't care where they're from.”

“Well,” the doctor sighed, “there are already so many big men fighting this war.” Steve’s heart sank again.  “Maybe what we need now is a little guy.”

“Huh?”

“I can offer you a chance,” the doctor said, sliding open the privacy curtain. “Only a chance.”

“I'll take it!” Steve said, grabbing his shoes. The old doctor looked at him in his weather-worn eyes, and scratched the gray hair on his head before saying,

“Good. So,” He picked up the coveted red stamp. “Where is the little guy from? Actually?” Steve couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Brooklyn.”

“Congratulations... Soldier.” The man handed him the folder, and walked away. Steve opened it, looking at the black ink ‘IA’ on the form. It meant yes. It meant he was going to go to training. It meant he was leaving. He made it.

 

\----

 

“Bucky!” Steve burst through the door, gripping the paper tightly in his hand while waving it above his head. “Bucky! Oh my god, I made it!  Bucky, I’m gonna--” Steve stopped as he saw the emptiness of the place.

The jacket hanging on the coat rack, gone.

Bucky’s picture of his mother and sister by the window, gone.

The coffee cup with the chip on the rim was washed and put away.

There was a note and a little wrapped package on the table.

Miss you, punk. Stay out of trouble. - Bucky

Steve’s lip wobbled. He had missed Bucky’s last moments in their apartment. In Bucky’s apartment, he reminded himself.

It was like getting hit with a brick wall.

He had to get over there.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So naturally, all of the dialogue from TFA is not mine and I take no credit for it. Please let me know what you guys think about this incorporation of scenes from TFA because that was the original idea of this fic, building around scenes and rewriting scenes from Future!Steve perspective. If it's irritating, let me know! 
> 
> Thanks again for reading, it means the world c:
> 
> Come yell at me on [tumblr](http://www.yourbfbucky.tumblr.com)


	5. How the Mighty Fall

[ _How the Mighty Fall_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=givzMxGKZps)

 

If the hundreds of fit men in uniform didn’t distract Steve enough, surely the woman walking toward his recruit group would have in any other situation besides Basic Training Camp. Her lipstick was gorgeous, a ruby red that made her skin look ivory, and her dark hair was perfectly curled. She looked familiar, giving Steve a deja vu feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had been getting a lot of those lately, from seeing people who looked like his friends out of the corner of his eye, to the streets he was familiar with in the 21st century.

“Recruits, attention!” she snapped, her English accent crisp and unfamiliar in New Jersey. “Gentlemen, I'm Agent Carter.” Steve’s mind went into overdrive. It couldn’t be. She couldn’t be related to Sharon- It was as if Steve really was in a Back to the Future movie. Was she her grandmother? Great-aunt? Totally random person? Steve didn’t know. But he was taken with her confidence. “I supervise all operations for this division,” she continued, walking down the line of men.

“What's with the accent, Queen Victoria?” A huge asshole with an even bigger mouth interrupted. She stopped, looking at him with a small smile on her face. “Thought I was signing up for the U.S. army.”

“What's your name, soldier?” she asked. He smirked and looked at the guys around him as if to say “Got her.” Steve felt that uncomfortable knot form in the pit of his stomach, and his hands itched to clench into fists. He had gotten into plenty of bar fights back home because of assholes like him.

“Gilmore Hodge, your majesty,” he drawled. Steve’s eyes widened. _That_ guy was going to be the Captain America? He had the trademark gap in his teeth, the blonde hair. Steve was standing in front of history being made.

“Step forward, Hodge,” she commanded. “Put your right foot forward.” Hodge grinned smugly.

“We gonna wrestle? 'Cause I gotta a few moves I know you'll like.” A sound like a whipcrack, and Hodge was down. Agent Carter’s hair was barely out of place, and Steve smiled. She would be the subject of another sketch tonight, privately in his bunk. (181 pages to go).

“Agent Carter.” An older man walked up, his face serious but not disciplinary.

“Colonel Phillips,” Agent Carter greeted.

“I can see that you are breaking in the candidates, that's good!” Phillips looked down his nose at Hodge, still down on the ground.

“Get your ass up out of that dirt, and stand up in that lineup at attention until somebody comes and tells you what to do,” he commanded. Hodge scrambled to his feet, a little blood trickling down his nose as he said,

“Yes, Sir!”

Colonel Phillips looked up and down the line and began walking. “General Patton has said: "Wars are fought with weapons, but they are won by men." We are going to win this war, because we have the best,” he stuttered as his eyes went over Steve. “...men.” Steve kept his gaze forward, but narrowed his eyes as soon as Phillips wasn’t looking. “And because they're gonna get better. Much, better.

“The Strategic Scientific Reserve is an allied effort, made up with the best minds of the free world. Our goal is to create the best army in history. But every army starts with one man. At the end of this week, we will chose that man. He'll be the first of a new breed of super soldiers.

_What?_

“And they will personally escort Adolf Hitler through the gates of hell.”

Steve’s thoughts swirled. Super soldier-- Coulson had said that was a propaganda tool of the US. We have “superheroes” fighting. Gilmore Hodge was gonna be the super soldier of the homefront.

Good thing that wasn’t gonna be him.

 

\-----

 

Maybe to escort Hitler through the gates of hell, they make us go through it first, Steve thought as he stumbled along behind pace of the troops.

“ROGERS! FALL IN!” Steve tripped over his feet and fell down on the track. The candidates laughed. He dragged a hand down his face to brush off the dirt, his skinned palms stung and he was pretty sure his ankles would never work the same way again. The last time he had to run like this was in High School PE and as soon as the teacher realized his asthma was this bad he was excused to write essays for his credit for the rest of the year. Too bad he couldn’t fight Nazis with 500-word responses on healthy living.

The gravel crunched, and Steve looked up at a pair of brown boots in his face.

“I think he said fall _in_ ,” the soft accent of Agent Carter made his face flush. “Not fall _down_.” Steve stood up, brushing off his hands and pants. His pack thumped against his back.

“What’s your name?” Agent Carter asked.

“Steve. Steve Rogers.” Steve held out his bleeding palm. Agent Carter took it gently.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Ah, it’s nothing.”

“Come on, let’s go get that looked at.”

“I said, I’m fine!” Steve snapped. Agent Carter raised an eyebrow. Steve deflated, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. That was inappropriate...ma’m.”

“Oh, please.” Agent Carter smiled a little. “I’ve been watching your progress so far, Private Rogers.”

“My progress?” Steve asked.

“Oh, yes. You’re moving up in the Doctor’s eyes and those eyes are the only ones that really matter in the end.”

“Yeah, right,” Steve grumbled. “I bet Hodge will be the winner.”

“The Colonel favours him.” Agent Carter’s eyes fell on Hodge running at the head of the pack on the track. Steve looked at her beautiful brown eyes. Those gorgeous cheekbones, the tint of her lipstick. “But the Doctor favours you,” she said, turning back to face Steve and putting a finger to her lips with a small smile. “Shh, don’t tell him I said that.” She straightened up, shoulders back. “Better run along. Tell your Drill Sergeant I needed your status for a report.”

“Yes, ma’m!” Steve saluted, then trotted back off to the pack.

 

\----

 

That night, he was able to open up his suitcase. Everyone was making up their bunk, replacing sheets, showering, arguing over space. Steve sat on the edge of the bed. He had one outfit packed, neatly folded by Lucy, pencils, and another sketchbook given to him by the Drag Queens in the theater as a “Bon Voyage/Good Luck” gift. As he was pulling out _Heroes of the Western Front_ to put on his nightstand, somebody snatched _The Machinery of War_ out of his suitcase.

“ _The Machinery of Waaaar_ ,” Gilmore Hodge drawled. “What’re you gonna do, shrimp? Study your way to victory?”

“Give that back.” Steve stood up.

“Oh, who are you?” Hodge folded his arms, still holding the book. “You the guinea pig?”

“I’m a candidate.”

“How’d you get in? You a charity case? Did’ya bat your eyes and plead real hard and Uncle Sam felt sorry?”

“Guess something must’ve worked.” Steve glowered. “Give me back my book.”

“And what if I….don’t?” Hodge held the book aloft, higher than Steve could reach. A couple of the guys gathered around, smirking as they watched the spectacle. “Y’know, I’ve crushed guys twice your size.”

“And I’ve taken on guys three times yours.” Steve shot back.  “Give me back my--” _Bucky’s_ he remembered with a tremor in his heart-- “book!”

Hodge chewed his tobacco a moment longer, then chuckled. “Alright, shrimp. We’ll see how much it helps you on the field.” He tossed it on the bed carelessly. Steve turned and picked it up, smoothing out the wrinkled pages and closing it.

“Jackass,” he grumbled. Steve regretted his first grade Halloween costume more than ever. Luckily Natasha still didn’t know that Steve was another national icon for Halloween. She would never let up on that, ever.

 

\----

 

He had endured teasing from the guys during a routine shirts-off physical examination:

“Nurse, you might wanna count Rogers’ ribs again!”

“Look at him, the Germans are gonna use him as a tooth pick.”

“Scrawny bastard like him isn’t gonna last two minutes in a fight, one minute in the cold.”

An asthma attack from the rope ladder on the obstacle course:

“Get up there Rogers! Faster!”  
“I can’t… breathe!”

 _And_ getting trapped under barbed wire by none other than Gilmore Hodge.

“Rogers! Get that rifle outta the mud!”

“Yeah, Rogers! Get that rifle outta the mud!”

Captain-Fucking-America was trying to kill him.

And now they were running the trail around the camp. He was last, as usual, cursing with every step in the boots that were too big for him. He had to stuff newspaper in the toe so that they wouldn’t shift.

“Pick up the pace, sweeties! Let’s go, let’s go! Double time! Come on, faster, faster!” the drill sergeant ran along with them. “Move, move, move!” They turned a corner, and there was Agent Carter sitting in a jeep.

“Squad halt!” The drill sergeant brought them to a full stop besides a flag pole. He pointed with his finger as well with his sharp nose at the Camp Lehigh flag. “That flag means you're only at the halfway point.”

 _Fuck_ , thought Steve.

“First man to bring it to me, gets to ride back with Agent Carter!”

 _Oh shit_ , Steve put his hands on his knees, looking at the guys trying to scramble and crawl over each other to reach the tiny camp flag.

“Come on, get up there! That's what you got?! This army is in trouble!” the drill sergeant taunted. “Get up there, Hodge!” Steve grinned as Hodge fell down on his ass.

“Ah, nobody's got that flag in seventeen years! Come on, come on, fall in!” As the men dusted themselves off and jogged back to the road, Steve walked up to the flagpole.

“Rogers!” the drill sergeant screamed. “I said, fall in!” Steve reached down, pulling the pin on the flagpole and causing it to fall to the ground, taking the flag with it. Steve walked over, taking up the flag, and handing it over to the now speechless drill sergeant. Even Hodge didn’t have a smirk to throw, just shaking his head in disbelief.  

“Thank you, Sir.” Steve said, simply. He hopped in the back of the jeep, and Agent Carter turned around and smiled at him, making him think of Sharon, with Bucky’s dark hair.

 

\------

 

“Faster ladies, come on! My grandmother has more life in her, God rest her soul.” Agent Carter was walking up and down their rows, as they were doing pushup drills. “Up!” Now they were doing jumping jacks. Steve felt like death was coming each time he raised his arms.

“Come on girls, move it!” Agent Carter sighed, folding her arms. Steve tried to imagine Bucky, bored out of his mind, sitting somewhere in England. It was colder there than here. That must be nice.

There was a deep shout, “GRENADE!” The men scattered, and Steve ran forward. Agent Carter was right there! He threw his scrawny body over it, curling up and closing his eyes, shaking like a leaf.

“Get away!” Steve shouted at her. “Get back!” He felt his pulse in his ears, and all he could think was when he would stop thinking.

Someone said something, and Steve opened his eyes, slowly uncurling, then sat up quickly. He wasn’t dead. “Dummy grenade. Back in formation.”

Steve looked down at the wooden grenade on the ground next to him. He looked up at Agent Carter, Doctor Erskine, and Colonel Phillips standing over him. Erskine looked as pleased as punch, Phillips looked like he had lost a bet, and Carter was just looking at him with genuine respect in her eyes.

“Is this a test?” he asked.

Erskine smiled, and Phillips muttered something. But Agent Carter was looking at him warmly. He was alive.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry for the delay! Between play rehearsals, college essays, senior project-- things have been pretty hectic on my end, and I wanted to be happy with the length of the update and the scenes. 
> 
> Let me know what you think- I have most of the next chapter queued up, just going over simple editing and adding a couple things. 
> 
> I take full responsibility for any historical/grammatical errors, entirely my own (and if anyone wants to be a beta-reader let me know! I'd be super grateful!)
> 
> Hit me up on [tumblr](http://www.yourbfbucky.tumblr.com)


	6. Never Thought My Shoes Would Have Me Fill This Role

[Never Thought My Shoes Would Have Me Fill This Role](https://play.spotify.com/track/1LA7oEXS3YEvnkJNCm0I3p)

In his sketchbook, Steve worked on the soft brow of Erskine, trying to capture those soft eyes. Then he did a profile on Colonel Phillips. 179 pages to go. His art teacher hadn’t even been born yet. Steve was cleaning up the doctor’s sketch when he himself walked in, carrying two glasses and a bottle of alcohol.

Erskine gestured at one of the empty beds. All of the candidates had been reassigned that day. As soon as Steve had been picked.     

“May I?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, closing the book. Not like the guys would be sleeping in them tonight, seeing as how Steve “won” the nomination for the speciality procedure. They had moved out earlier, while Steve was getting briefed on what being picked meant. His stomach hurt. He didn’t realize this was a medical procedure, and he meant no offense to the time period or Doctor Erskine, but WW2 era medicine didn’t give him a lot of confidence.   

“Can't sleep?” Erskine asked.

“Got the jitters, I guess,” Steve admitted. Erskine chuckled.

“Oh, me too.”

That didn’t fill Steve up with confidence. He bit his lip, then asked, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Just one?” Erskine seemed to read his mind constantly.

Steve cleared his throat. “Why me?”

Erskine nodded slowly. “I suppose that is the one question that matters.” He held up the bottle. “This is from Augsburg. My city. So many people forget that the first country the Nazis invaded was their own. You know after the last war they… My people struggled, they… they… They felt weak, they felt…slow.

“Then Hitler comes along.” The knot in Steve’s stomach tightened. “With the marching and the big show, and the flags and all that-- And he hears of me and my work, and he finds me. Then he says, “You. You will make us strong.

“Well,” Erskine looks at Steve with raised eyebrows. “I am not interested. So he sends the head of Hydra. His research division. A brilliant scientist by the name of, Johann Schmidt. Now Schmidt is a member of the inner circle. And he's ambitious. He and Hitler share this passion for, occult power and teutonic myth. Hitler uses his fantasies to inspire his followers. But for Schmidt it is not fantasy. For him, it is real. He has become convinced that there is a great power. Hidden in the earth, left here by the gods. Waiting to be seized by superior men. So when he has found my formula and what it can do…” Erskine shook his head. “He cannot resist. Schmidt wants to become that superior man.”

“Did it make him stronger?” Steve asked.

“Ja,” Erskine said. “But, it had _other_ effects. The serum wasn't ready. But more important...The man.”

Steve’s brow creased and Erskine continued:

“The serum amplifies everything that is inside, so.. Good becomes great. Bad... becomes worse.”

Steve’s gaze fell. He had figured this was like 20th century steroids, while Erskine sounded like he was talking about _magic_. He heard a l[ong-ago audiobook play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HTYbu87Y_0E&index=6&list=PLq42VXn0yMhiKbU4RpZc_9j5chFOhf88a) in the back of his head: “The wand chooses the wizard, Mr Potter.”

He didn’t think he was _that_ good. He fought people, and drove away people he cared about. Would the serum also affect him like Schmidt?

Erskine seemed to read his thoughts.

“ _This_ is why _you_ were chosen,” he said. “Because a strong man, who has known power all his life, they lose respect for that power. But a weak man, who knows the value of strength, knows compassion.” Erskine smiled, having fully explained himself.

“Thanks...I think?” Steve smiled a little. Erskine pointed to the glasses and Steve held them out while he poured the drink.

“Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you must stay who you are.” He took a glass in hand. “Not a perfect soldier. _But_ ,” Erskine leaned forward and pointed directly at Steve’s heart.  “A good man.”

Steve felt the warmth of appreciation grow as Erskine poured the schnapps. He raises his glass. “To the little guys.”

Erskine toasted with him, and Steve had just raised the glass to his lips before Erskine grabbed it out of his hand.

“No, wait, wait. What am I doing? No, you have procedure tomorrow. No fluids.”

“All right, we'll drink it after.” Steve shrugged. Erskine furrowed his brow, looking at him like he just spoke a different language.

“No, I don't have procedure tomorrow. Drink it later, ha! I drink it now.”

Steve chuckled, watching Dr. Erskine take two shots with steady hands.

****  
  


\-------

“I know this neighborhood,” Steve said, smiling as they drove through Brooklyn. “I got beat up in that alley… and that parking lot… and behind that diner.”

“Did you have something against running away?” Agent Carter asked.

“You start running, they'll never let you stop.” Steve said. “You stand up, push back. They can't say no forever, right?”

“I know a little of what that's like,” Agent Carter said, and Steve looked up in her eyes. “To have every door shut in your face.”

“You remind me a lot of a friend of mine,” Steve said. “She wants to be in the- er- military too. You both are beautiful- women. Beautiful women- _agents_. Beautiful--” Steve tripped over his tongue.

“Graceful,” Agent Carter said with a smile.

“I try.” Steve chuckled.

“Is she a good friend, This woman?”

“Definitely. But, we’ve grown apart. We fought the last time we talked.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Ah, it’s whatever,” Steve said, waving a hand. “At least she won’t beat me up once she hears about that. At least, not as much as Nat.”

“Nat?” Agent Carter asked.

“Oh yeah, she’s my best friend. She’s a dancer. Ballet. She could kick my ass,” Steve admitted, smiling despite the lump growing in his throat.” Agent Carter studied Steve’s face.

“Do you dance?” she asked.

“Oh no, two left feet. I’ve barely danced ever.”

“You’re from Brooklyn, you must have danced at events and parties. Not even a slow one?”

“Well, asking a woman to dance always seems so terrifying… And the past few years just...Didn't seem to matter that much.” Steve sighed. “Figured I'd wait.”

“For what?” Agent Carter asked, unbuckling her seat belt as the car parked at a curb.

“Right partner.” Steve shrugged, putting on his hat as they stepped out of the car. They walked into a shop named “Brooklyn Antiques.” An old woman stepped out from the back, greeting them.

“Wonderful weather, this morning.”

Without skipping a beat, Agent Carter replied, “Yes, but I always carry an umbrella.”

The old woman nodded, walking behind the counter and pressing something. Steve heard a buzzing sound, and followed Agent Carter to the back of the shop. There, he stood face to spine with a bookcase of old books for only a second before the case split open, revealing a hallway.

They were in. Steve looked around the laboratory hallway with wide eyes. If this looked like something from future now, what was back in his time?

Doctor Erskine was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs in the middle of the laboratory. There was a machine in the middle of what felt like a stage, spotlight and all. Control panels surrounded it in a semi-circle, and there were doctors and nurses scurrying about. But they all stopped when they saw him and Agent Carter at the top of the stairs. Steve looked to her, and she returned his gaze with what looked like regret in her eyes before turning and walking down the stairs to where Erskine stood. Steve followed.

“Good morning,” Erskine said, shaking Steve’s hand. There was a camera flash and Erskine glared. “Please, not now.”

Steve cracked his knuckles, letting his fingers get all loose.

“You ready?” Erskine asked.

Steve nodded.

“Good. Take off your shirt, your tie, and your hat.” Steve glanced at Agent Carter, then took off his hat and began to loosen his tie. A nurse smiled at him as he handed her his clothes.

“Comfortable?” Erskine asked, as Steve lay down on the machine. Erskine had explained how it all worked yesterday, but it had flown out of Steve’s mind.

“It's a little big,” he joked nervously. “You save me any of that schnapps?”

“Not as much as I should have,” Erskine grimaced. “Sorry, next time.” He looked up as someone walked in. “Ah, Mister Stark, how are the levels?” Steve looked over to watch Howard Stark himself walk up onto the platform. Oh, if Bucky or Clint- or hell, even Sam- could see him now. Then he remembered the flying car. How it crashed on stage. Oh god, he was going to die.

“Levels at 100 percent,” said Stark.

“Good.”

“We may dim half the lights in Brooklyn,” Stark looked Steve up and down slowly as if he was a machine rather than a person. “But we are ready. Good as we'll ever be.”

“Agent Carter, don't you think you would be more comfortable in the booth?” Dr Erskine asked.

“Oh yes, ah, sorry,” Agent Carter exchanged one last look with Steve, before walking up the stairs to the observation booth. Steve tried not to think how many people would watch this. Doctor Erskine had been given a microphone and was explaining what was happening as nurses prepared materials. A couple of them asked him if they could get him anything.

There was a needle coming toward his arm. Steve closed his eyes, feeling the sting, then sighed. “That wasn’t so bad,” he admitted. Doctor Erskine’s lip twitched and he said,

“That was penicillin.”

Steve shivered.    
“Serum infusion. Beginning in, five...Four... Three...Two...One.” The metal plates that they had placed over his body pierced him in several different spots. Initially, the breaking of the skin hurt. Then the injections began to burn.  

“Now, Mr. Stark,” Steve heard Erskine say. The machine began to shift, standing Steve up and enclosing him in its cocoon. It was almost completely dark, except for the light from the window.

“Steven? Can you hear me?” Came Erskine’s muffled voice. Steve’s hands shook a little. What the hell was he doing?!

Nothing to lose.

“Probably too late to go to the bathroom, right?”  Steve chuckled, trying to steel his nerves.

“We will proceed.”

A sparking around him, like the flash on a camera. Steve closed his eyes, trying to focus on the numbers being shouted by Stark, instead of how his flesh felt like it was burning, or suddenly how all of his joints ached and seemed like they were being pulled like clay.

“Ten….twenty….thirty….fourty!  Fifty!!!! Sixty! Seven-” Steve heard a loud sound, like an animal being run over. Wait. That was him. He was screaming.

“Steven, Steven!” Erskine was slamming on the outside of the cocoon.

“Shut it down!!” Came the muffled shout of Agent Carter.

“Kill the reactor Mister Stark!”

Steve forced his mouth shut, then opened it to yell, “NO!!! Don't!! I-I can do this!”

“Eighty… Ninety….That's one hundred percent!” The light was too much, everything hurt and was on fire. He couldn’t take anymore, he stopped fighting the pain, closing his eyes but still seeing the light of the machine. It was so bright, maybe he actually was dying. The whooshing sound got louder and louder.

Then everything went dark.

Steve felt his body relax.

“Mr Stark!” he heard Erskine shout. Then the machine opened. His eyes fluttered, he took in deep lungfuls of air. His breaths were smooth, for the first time in years. He felt hands on his arm and he opened his eyes to see Erskine and Howard Stark helping him down from the machine. He had his hands on their shoulders, and panted, beads of sweat gathering on his chest and abdomen.

“I think we did it,” Erskine muttered. Steve heard it loud and clear. In fact, he could hear all kinds of things clearly.

“We actually did it,” Howard Stark said breathlessly. Suddenly Agent Carter was in front of them, looking up (looking up!!) at Steve and smiling, her eyebrows creased with worry.

“How do you feel?” she asked. Steve looked up and around, getting his footing. He felt lightheaded, and was still breathing heavily as he said,

“Taller.” Agent Carter moved a hand forward as if to touch him, then pulled back and grabbed a shirt held out by a nurse instead.

“You look taller,” she said, unfolding it and handing it to Steve. Everyone was talking, and Steve could hear everything. All of his senses were overloading at once, he could smell, see, hear, feel, and even taste everything so much clearer than before. Erskine was shaking people’s hands, and someone helped Steve put on his shirt. His hands were shaking. How could this have actually worked?

Then everything went to hell.

An explosion made Steve’s newly transformed hearing ring with pain as he flipped around and crouched.

“Stop him!” someone shouted. There were two shots. A woman screamed. Steve stood up and saw Erskine crumpled on the ground. He wobbled his way over to him, hearing three more shots as he fell to his knees. Erskine’s breath was shuddering, a little bit of blood coming out of his mouth as he looked up at Steve. Steve shook his head, putting a hand on Erskine’s shoulder. Everything was so perfect two seconds ago.

Erskine tapped at his chest, and Steve remembered him say, “ _A good man,_ ” as he closed his eyes.

Then the anger. The red hot boiling anger that comes with the feeling of vengeance seemed to swallow his vision. Steve looked up, his jaw clenching and his face tightening.

He would get the man that did this.

****  
  


\------

Wednesday - June 23rd, 1943 - NAZIS IN NEW YORK! MYSTERY MAN SAVES CHILD!

\------

They were gathered around the German sub and many state secrets. “As of today, the S.S.R. is being retasked,” Colonel Phillips said, his mouth a grim line.

“Colonel?” Agent Carter began.

“We are taking the fight to Hydra. Pack your bags, Agent Carter. You too, Stark! We're flying to London tonight.”

Steve tightened his jaw, stepping forward. “Sir. If you're going after Schmidt, I want in.”

“You’re an experiment, you're going to Alamogordo.” Phillips said flatly.

“The serum worked!” Steve insisted.

“I asked for an army, and all I got was you,” Phillips tone was quiet, cold. “You. You're not enough.” The words hit Steve like a punch to the face. Colonel Phillips left without another thought. Senator Brandt walked up to him, rubbing his jaw.

“With all due respect to the Colonel. I think we may be missing the point. I've seen you in action, Steve. More importantly,” he snapped his fingers and one of his assistants handed him the paper with Steve’s photo plastered on the cover. “The country’s seen it. The enlistment lines have been around the block since your picture hit the newsstands.” Steve felt something swell within him. Pride? “You don't take a soldier, a symbol like that. And hide him in a lab!” Senator Brandt smiled, looking up at Steve. “Son, do you want to serve your country, on the most important battlefield of the war?”

“Sir,” Steve said quickly. “That's all I want.”

“Than congratulations,” he reached out his hand to shake. “You just got promoted.”

\-----

That night, he lay awake in the hotel room they had set him up in. His personal effects had been brought to him, and he finished coloring in Erskine’s portrait from what seemed like weeks ago but had only been the day before.

He stood up, rubbing his face and going to the bathroom. As he turned on the light, he startled himself in the mirror. They hadn’t really let him look at what had changed. He was taller, sure. That was going to take some getting used to. His eyes were better, his hearing had never been sharper. His face was the same, just pasted onto a supermodel’s body. He didn’t feel tired. He was craving movement, physical exertion.

When he went back to his bed, he sighed deeply and flipped through the sketchbooks’ pages. Then on the last one, he saw something jammed in the spine. A note. He unfurled it carefully and scoffed.

“Pick up eggs, and please be careful.” Natasha’s distinctive handwriting made Steve grin. He folded the note carefully and tucked it back in the sketchbook. If Natasha could only see what not being careful got him. He turned to a new page in his sketchbook and began to doodle a butterfly. His friends wouldn’t even recognize him now.

Steve put his book down and closed his eyes. Then he had a thought. Before falling asleep, he checked under the waistband of his pants.

“Nice.”

\------

 

“I don’t understand. _I’m_ Captain America?” Steve asked, looking at the illustrations.

“What’s wrong?” the woman asked, her brow creasing. “Is it not--”

“No, no, it’s good!” Steve reassured her. He just-- the exhibit. He was the face of it? It was supposed to be Hodges… but did it? Was he changing his future? His present, his past, just by being there? Wasn’t _Back to the Future_ supposed to prepare him for this? What was he supposed to do?  

Then he remembered the Smithsonian exhibit, Coulson’s lectures, Hodge’s grin as he taunted Agent Carter.

“I guess I am.”

\----

It was a complicated process. Blue briefs. Blue tights. Blue short shorts that produced continuous wedgies. The blue cowl thing with the stupid wings. The long sleeve shirt that was too tight on his arms. The red gloves. The belt. The red pirate boots. And the shield.

“I don't know if I can do this,” Steve said, his stomach tossing and turning. Ever since Ms Wise’s first grade presentations- he had major stage fright.

“Nothing to it. Sell a few bonds, bonds buy bullets, bullets kill Nazis. Big, bang, boom!” The stage manager patted him on the shoulder.  “You’re an American hero.”

Steve sighed, “Just not how I pictured getting there.”

“The Senator’s gotta lot of pull up on the hill. You play ball with this, you’ll be leading your own platoon in no time.” Steve swallowed. Propaganda. What would Nat say about this?

Then he was pushed into the spotlight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Between college essays and other assignments, it's been a whirlwind. But it's here now! This was one of my favorite chapters to write, especially because now some of my favorite scenes will be coming in. 
> 
> I take full responsibility for any historical/grammatical errors, entirely my own as usual (no beta reader is willing to take on this monster lol)
> 
> Hit me up on [tumblr](http://yourbfbucky.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading and commenting!!! Means the absolute world and brightens my day!


	7. Headed Straight for the Castle

[Heading Straight for the Castle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1rfSHisyHdc)

 

The 110th time he stepped into the spotlight, he was in front of real soldiers in Italy. As close to the front lines as he’s ever gotten. He grinned that smile they had trained him to give. 

“How many of you are ready to help me sock ol' Adolf on the jaw?” 

Silence. 

“Um, okay.” Steve’s mind raced. “I-I need a volunteer!”

“We already volunteered!” someone called out. “How do you think I got here?” That got some laughter. 

“Bring back the girls!” another shouted. 

“I think they only know the one song,” Steve said, looking over the sunken in faces and cold eyes. The missing limbs. The bloodstained uniforms. “But, um…Let me… I'll see what I can do.”

“You do that, sweetheart!”

“Nice boots, Tinkerbell!” 

Steve frowned. “Come on guys! We’re all on the same team here!” 

“Hey, Captain!” a man stood up, turning his back to him. “Sign this!” He pulled down his pants, sparking a roar of laughter. Steve gulped, feeling his cheeks get red hot with embarrassment. Someone threw a tomato.  _ Seriously? People actually did that? _ He walked off stage as the girls ran back on to cheers and applause. 

“Don't worry about it, they'll warm up to you,” the stage manager assured him. Steve knew he was lying. 

 

\----

 

Throughout the tour, he tried to fill a page for every state they performed in. He filled up 50 pages, and today he filled up two more pages sitting on a crate backstage. (120 pages left) A map of Italy with the train he had ridden to get here. A monkey, dressed in his costume, dancing on a unicycle above the clown caricatures of the financial heads of the “Captain America Project". (118 pages left)

It was raining, a constant stream of pitters and patters on the muddy ground. Steve was wearing his army jacket over his costume and sketching aimlessly. What a great start to the International Tour. 

“Hello, Steve,” a gentle voice broke through the sound of the rain and thunder. Steve turned then did a double take. There was Agent Carter. Still as beautiful as ever and almost untouched by the rainy weather. 

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she said back. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. 

“Officially, I'm not here at all,” she admitted, walking to sit down next to him. “That was quite a performance.”

“Yeah, uh… I had to improvise a little bit. The crowds I'm used to are usually more, uh…” Steve trailed off. 

“I understand you're America's new hope,” Carter said. 

“Bond sales take a ten percent bump on every state I visit,” Steve recited with an edge in his voice. 

“Is that Senator Brandt I hear?” Carter asked, raising an eyebrow.

“At least he's got me doing this.” Steve shook his head and said bitterly, “Phillips would have had me stuck in a lab.”

“And these are you only two options?” Carter raised an eyebrow at him. “A lab rat, or a dancing monkey?” She gestured at Steve’s book. “You were meant for more than this, you know.” Steve looked down, then out at the Italian countryside. The trees seemed to cry with rain. He thought about what to say. 

“You know for the longest time, I dreamed about coming overseas and...being on the front lines. Serving my country. Finally got everything I wanted,” Steve scoffed, “And I'm wearing tights. They look like they've been through hell...” Steve gestured at the soldiers’ tents. 

“These men more the most,” Agent Carter said. “Schmidt sent out a force to a Azzano. Less than fifty out of two-hundred-fifty men returned. Your audience contained what was left of the 107th.” 

Steve felt a chill run down his spine. 

“The rest were killed or captured,” Carter continued. 

“The 107th?” Steve repeated, a deep knot forming in the pit of his stomach. 

“What?” Carter asked. Steve shot up, slapping the sketch book shut and shoving it into his pocket along with his pencil. 

“Come on!” he called behind him, sprinting out into the rain with Agent Carter following behind. He hurried all the way to the Colonel’s tent, greeting him as he walked to his desk. 

“Colonel Phillips.”

“Well, if it isn't the Star Spangled Man with the plan,” Phillips mocked, turning to him and looking him up and down. “What is your plan today?”

“I need the casualty list from Bolzano,” Steve said quickly. Phillips expression turned icy.

“You don't get to give me orders, son,” he nearly growled.

“I just need one name,” Steve tried to keep his voice steady. “Sergeant James Barnes from the 107th.” Phillips looked past him to Agent Carter, saying, 

“You and I are going to have a conversation later that you won't enjoy.”

“Please tell me he's alive, sir,” Steve said, almost begging. “B-A-R--”

“I can spell,” Phillips snapped. He sighed, standing up. “I've signed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count. But… the name does sound familiar. I'm sorry.” Steve felt a slug rip through his gut but shook his head.  _ MIA does not mean KIA. There is no body. _ He kept repeating this over and over as he asked,

“What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?”

“Yeah,” Phillips scoffed. “it's called winning the war.”

“But if you know where they are, why not--” 

“They're thirty miles behind the lines, through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe, we'd lose more men than we'd save. I don't expect you to understand that, because you're a  _ chorus girl _ .” Steve gritted his jaw, wanting to snap. To scream. But instead he cast his eyes down and said, 

“I think I understand just fine.”

“Well then understand it somewhere else,” Phillips ordered. “If I read the posters correctly, you've got someplace to be in thirty minutes.” He walked away, leaving Steve an unblocked view of the map. There was the base. Steve memorized its location, then said,

“Yes, sir. I do.” Steve ran out of the tent, and hurried to the costume tent. Stripping off his cloth jacket, he removed the unnecessary layers of costume and slipped on his army pants and leather jacket. He threw together supplies into a bag, stealing Amy’s helmet off the shelf. 

“What do plan to do, walk to Austria?!” Agent Carter’s voice broke through his train of thought. 

“If that's what it takes,” Steve said grimly.

“You heard the Colonel,” Agent Carter’s voice was kind but firm. “Your friend is most likely dead.” Steve shook his head. 

“You don't know that.” Steve walked out of the tent, leaving Agent Carter to follow behind. The rain had stopped, and the mist and steam wafting off the canvas in the sunlight gave the encampment an eery look. 

“Even so, he's devising a strategy, it takes time.” 

“By the time he's done that, it could be too late!” Steve exclaimed. 

“Steve,” Agent Carter said, looking him dead in the eye. Steve put the prop shield and his bag in the back of a jeep. He looked at Agent Carter, his mind racing, but one question bubbling to the surface. 

“You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?”

“Every word,” she said with barely a pause, and Steve knew she meant it.

“Then you gotta let me go.” He walked to the driver’s side and slid in on the seat, starting the ignition. Agent Carter put her hand on the steering wheel.

“I can do more than that.”

 

\--------

 

That’s how Steve found himself in Howard Stark’s airplane. Oh, if only Clint could see him now. If anyone could see him now.  “We should be able to drop you around the doorstep,” Agent Carter was debriefing the plan.

“Just get me as close as you can,” Steve asked, adjusting the straps on his gloves. “You know you two are going to be in a lot of trouble when you land.”

“And you won't?” Agent Carter gave him a look. Steve smiled. She looked just like Sharon. 

“Where I'm going, if anybody yells at me I can just shoot them.”

“And they will undoubtedly shoot back.” 

“Well,” Steve knocked on his prop shield. “Let’s hope this is good for something.”

“Agent Carter!” Howard called from the front of the plane. “If you're not in too much of a hurry I thought we could stop off in Usura for a late night Fondue!” Steve raised his eyebrows, and Agent Carter cleared her throat.

“Stark is the best civilian pilot I've ever seen,” she explained. “He's mad enough to brave this air space. We're lucky to have him.” Steve nodded slowly.

“So you two? Do you? Fondue?” Was Sharon a relative of  _ the _ Tony Stark? Agent Carter seemed to ignore him and pull out a device that looked very similar to that of a walkie-talkie. 

“This is your transponder, active it when you're ready. And the signal will lead us straight to you.

“Are you sure this thing works?” Steve raised an eyebrow at the plastic covering on the wire. 

“It tested more than you, pal,” Stark scoffed. Suddenly, a huge blast shook the plane. A firefight. Time to go.

“Get back here! We're taking you all the way there!” Agent Carter said as Steve opened the side of the plane. He gripped his shield, looking at the explosions going off around him. 

“I'm jumping! Turn this thing around, and get the hell out of here!” He shouted. 

“You can't give me orders!” Agent Carter cried out.

“The hell I can't!” A cocky grin overtook Steve’s face. “I'm a Captain!”

And he jumped. 

  
\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays all! Finally got another chance to look at this monster, as well as publish another work that I've been ruminating on for a while (another movie remix, who knew?)
> 
> I take full responsibility for any historical/grammatical errors, entirely my own as usual (no beta reader is willing to take on this monster lol)
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Best feeling in the world!
> 
> Lots of love and well wishes for the New Year!


	8. Time to Escape

[ Time to Escape ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LdN-5wHA3p8)

 

Getting into the compound was the easy part. He copied several cartoons and action movies, but somehow with his new abilities they actually  _ worked _ . Then he found the prisons. As he clocked out the only guard, he looked down to see cages filled with POWs.

“Who are you supposed to be?” a man asked.

“Um…” Steve looked around, unsure of what to say. “Captain America.”

“I beg your pardon?” a man with an English accent asked. 

Steve dropped down and started breaking open the cages. He heard a man with an impressive mustache, make a comment about a Japanese man to which he scathingly replied, “I’m from Fresno, ace,” pulling out his dog tags.

“There anybody else?” Steve interrupted. “I'm looking for a Sergeant James Barnes.”

“There's an isolation ward in the factory,” the Englishman explained. Finally. A plan.  “No one’s ever come back from it.” 

“All right,” Steve said, turning to face the newly freed POWs. “The tree line is northwest, it's eighty yards past the gate. Get out fast, and give them hell. I'll meet you guys in the clearing with anybody else I find.” He turned back but was stopped by Gabe Jones asking, 

“You know what you're doing?”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugged. “I’ve knocked out Adolf Hitler over 200 times.”

It wasn’t a lie.

 

\------

 

Steve ran down the corridors, a cold feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. He turned a corner, and stood off against a short man in a fedora and small glasses. The man ran off, and Steve began to give chase- until he heard the mumbling. 

“James Buchanan Barnes. Sergeant. 32557038. March 10th, 1917. James Buchanan Barnes. Sergeant. 32557038. March 10th, 1917.” Steve flew into the room, immediately seeing the near-dead body on the table. “James Buchanan Barnes. Sergeant. 32557038. March 10th, 1917. James Buchanan Barnes. Sergeant…”

“Bucky! Oh my God.” Steve grabbed his hand. His throat started to feel heavy and he blinked back tears of relief.  “What did they do to you?” he murmured, putting his other hand on Bucky’s chest to feel a heartbeat. 

Bucky’s eyes were glazed over. 

“It’s me, it’s Steve,” Steve said hurriedly. “It’s Steve.”

“St-Steve?” Bucky’s eyes focused, and his chapped lips broke into a smile. “Steve. Steve!”

“Come on.” Steve reached down and ripped the leather bindings out of their holdings. He pulled Bucky up to where he was sitting, still dazed.  

“Steve,” Bucky repeated, reaching out an arm for balance. 

“I thought you were dead,” Steve admitted breathlessly.

“I thought you were smaller,” Bucky said. Steve couldn’t help grin a little.

“Come on,” he helped him onto his feet and held on tightly as they got out of the lab. Steve caught sight of a map on the wall. He stared at it, etching each marking’s placement in his memory, before moving out the door with Bucky.

“What happened to you?” Bucky asked, clutching onto Steve’s shoulder.

“I joined the army,” he replied. 

Steve helped Bucky walk for about a hundred feet before Bucky started trying to walk on his own. “Stubborn bastard,” Steve grumbled. 

“Did it hurt?” Bucky asked. 

“A little,” said Steve.

“Is it permanent?” Bucky’s voice caught, and Steve glanced back at him. 

“So far.”

 

\------

 

The cube. The colors of the weaponry were the same shade of galactic blue that enveloped Steve and sent him back to 1943. Steve’s heartbeat quickened, and he licked his lips. His eyes narrowed, he squared his shoulders and stepped forward. 

“Captain America!” Schmidt called out, his coattails flapping behind him.  “How exciting! I am a great fan of your films!”

Steve glanced over to Bucky, making sure he was still upright before facing forward. Onward to the jaws of death. The man walked forward to the catwalk connecting them. “So, Doctor Erskine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement,” Schmidt continued, drawing his eyes slowly from Steve’s boots to his helmet like a snake. “But still, impressive.” 

Steve threw forward a punch with all his weight behind him, connecting with Schmidt’s cheek and making him stagger backward.

“You’ve got no idea,” Steve said. 

“Haven't I?” Schmidt grinned, and pulled his arm back to return the favor. Steve barely managed to get his shield up in front of his face before Schmidt punched so hard his knuckles left a perfect imprint in the metal. Steve unclipped his gun, but before he could turn the safety off Schmidt hit him across the face. The gun fell from his grasp and Steve fell down hard on the catwalk. Schmidt stalked forward slowly, a growing red spot under his eye. Steve curled his knees to his chest and kicked Schmidt directly in the chest, making him fly back. 

The bridge slid backwards with a groan. Steve felt the pull of the cube, the memories of his friend’s smiles- but was acutely pulled back into the past, his present, by a small growl from Bucky as he stared at the portly man with glasses next to Schmidt. 

Schmidt taunted him, “No matter what  _ lies _ Erskine told you, they say  _ I _ was his greatest success!” His arrogant words meant next to nothing as he reached up and literally tore his face off. Steve’s mouth fell open slightly and he watched as the mask was dropped into the fiery gorge below. 

“You don't have one of those, do you?” Bucky asked behind him, his voice wavering slightly.

Schmidt called out, “You are deluded, Captain.” Even over the distance, Steve could see the veins pulsing in the muscle. Schmidt’s face had been boiled down, now a blood red skull only protected by the muscles of his face. “You pretend to be a simple soldier. But in reality you are just afraid to admit,” he said while taking the cube’s case from the smaller man and walking toward the elevator, “that we have left humanity behind. Unlike you, I embrace it proudly, without fear!” Steve felt that familiar rage boil up in his chest, looking at the man- the  _ monster _ who wore his colors on his face and tortured his protector. 

“Then how come you're running?!” he shouted. Schmidt seemed to smirk as the elevator doors shut tightly, and another explosion from below brought Steve’s focus back. They had to get out of here. Looking up, he saw a possibility in a ceiling beam, and grabbed Bucky’s arm. “Come on, let's go up!” Bucky stumbled forward, grabbing the railing and followed behind him, his dog tags clinking against his chest. 

Steve sprinted along the metal walkway, weighing their options. This was their best bet to the other side. 

“Let's go, one at a time.” Steve helped Bucky get his legs over the guardrail to the beam. Bucky shook his head, grabbing Steve’s sleeve. “I’ll be right behind.” Bucky turned, holding his arm until he took his first step over the valley of explosions. The beam was shaking, and Steve’s heart lurched. He gripped the guardrail so tight it crumpled in his fist like a soda can. “C’mon Buck,” Steve murmured. 

The beam shuddered, and jolted, making Bucky flail his arms to regain his footing. He was almost halfway across and Steve knew in his soul that there wasn’t gonna be an opening for a second crossing. The bolts creaked and then snapped- and Bucky ran forward the last few steps and leaped, making Steve cry out and close his eyes, not daring to see if he had made it. 

Bucky’s shocked and emaciated face looked back at him from the other side. Steve wanted to whoop or cheer or something- but his chest was cold. 

“There’s gotta be a rope or something!” Bucky shouted. Steve shook his head,

“Just go, get out of here!” he cried back.

“No! NOT WITHOUT YOU!” Bucky roared hoarsely, slamming his hand on his guardrail. Steve looked down. If he bent the guardrail open, and moved backward- maybe. There was no time to think. He went for it, straining as the iron folded in his hands. He gripped the shield, stepping back as far as he could go. There were more explosions. Bucky was watching him. Steve sent a tiny apology to Natasha in the future.  _ This probably wasn’t what you meant by “be careful”,  _ he thought.  _ Sorry. _

He ran forward, and leaped. 

  
\------- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am as clever with words as I am with my song choices (not very lol)
> 
> I take full responsibility for any historical/grammatical errors! Please let me know if you see any!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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